Tony Stark's Island of Misfit Toys
by dysprositos
Summary: AU. Ivan Vanko attacked Tony at the opening of Stark Expo, which set all kinds of other changes in motion. Slowly, Tony gathers all the pieces of a group he was not aware he was collecting. What's he going to do when he's collected them all? Alternate path to The Avengers in which the team is thrown together in a different, though no less combustible, way.
1. Premise

**Warnings: none. Well, language, I guess?**

**Thanks to my beta, irite, for helping me get this new project off the ground!**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

He fought it.

Of course he fought it. Tooth and nail. But given what had happened, the timing of the attack...he never stood a chance.

And maybe that's what Vanko had intended, the jackass. Not Tony's death, just the exposure of a weakness.

Stark Expo was _supposed_ to be one hell of a party. After all, they hadn't had one of these since 1974. And Tony had a lot to celebrate, so the opening ceremony was _supposed_ to be a triumphant new beginning, chock full of phoenix metaphors and shit.

But then Vanko had shown up. Wearing his own suit, powered by an arc reactor, complete with electrically-charged whips.

It hadn't been much of a battle. It could have been a lot worse, with civilian casualties, or massive structural damage, or both. But Tony had been able to get back into his suit pretty quickly—not before Vanko had gotten some pretty good hits in, but quick enough—and he had taken down Vanko without much fuss after that.

Still, when he'd sat in front of the Senate the next morning (those bastards were pretty insensitive about serving subpoenas), the makeup caked over his left eye did little to hide the bruising and, well, there wasn't much hope of concealing the stitches in his lip, either. All in all, it wasn't really how he preferred to appear on national television, and _really_ not how he wanted to look when he was trying to convince a Senate committee that his suits posed no real threat to American security. Because even if no one (except, well, Tony) had been hurt in Vanko's attack, the fact remained that _Vanko's '_suit' posed a threat. And that Vanko had this technology, well...

It kind of proved the Senate's point. Unequivocally, actually.

Still, they'd called Justin Hammer—the idiot who headed up Hammer Industries, one of Tony's 'competitors' (as if; that guy was too stupid to compete with anyone, ever)—as a witness. He'd barely had to say ten words about the current state of weapons technology before the decision had been made.

After all, the post-9/11 American government was a damn powerhouse, with very little regard for things like personal property and, well, laws. They decreed—with very little debate amongst themselves and with almost no public outcry—that Tony had to hand over his suits and all related technology. Including the arc reactors.

Luckily, no one except a select few knew about the one in his chest. And they weren't going to tell.

Thank God for paranoia.

Of course he objected to the ruling. Loudly. Rudely. But all of Tony's protestations were summarily dismissed, and he was ordered to deliver his property to the United States military or face the consequences.

Stern had been the one to deliver the news, with a smirk on his face, and Tony couldn't do one damn thing about him without endangering his tech even more.

But that certainly didn't mean he was going to hand over his property. Not that easily.

So Tony fought it. He signed the company over to Pepper (who sighed, but took the reins with no fuss otherwise) and dedicated his time to fighting it. He cancelled all his plans for the next year: business trips, vacations, speaking engagements. He handed over the construction of Stark Tower in New York entirely to his contractors.

He was, he thought, prepared to see this through.

He was wrong.

For months, he was tied up in court, trying to assert his right to keep his tech. But after being attacked by Vanko, after everyone saw what that kind of technology in the wrong hands could look like, no one would listen to what he was saying. No one believed they were safe; they wanted the government to protect them, like _that_ was a good idea. And so court after court ruled against him, saying that it was for the good of the nation—no, it was absolutely _essential_ for national security—that he just do what he had been ordered to do. After all, a private citizen holding such a dangerous weapon was certainly far too risky.

As they'd all seen.

It was an exhausting battle, and an expensive one, a trying one, and finally, _eventually,_ Tony had had enough. The months-long legal battle had decimated what personal life he'd had; by the end, he hadn't seen Pepper or Rhodey in weeks. Pepper was busy running the company and Rhodey, well, the military was keeping pretty tight wraps on him. He'd called a few times to express his condolences over 'this bullshit,' as he put it, but short of resigning his position, there was very little he could do about it.

And Tony got it. He really did. He wasn't even angry.

The wreckage of his personal life might not have been enough for him to throw the towel in (because Tony approached problems with a near-rabid intensity), but on top of that, his health was...not what it needed to be. Frankly, he was pretty sure he was dying. He hadn't been in the suit in ages—hadn't had time to rebuild what was stolen—and it had slowed down the palladium poisoning, but nothing he knew of could _reverse _it, not even the vast quantities of green gook he was choking down every day.

It was just a matter of time.

And he wasn't going to waste what was left of his life fighting a battle he knew he couldn't win.

He was done.

So, on November 29th, 2010—the same day that Vanko was sentenced to life in prison, incidentally (and that wasn't nearly as satisfying as Tony had hoped it would be)—Tony had his property delivered to the designated military base. He, of course, didn't go, wouldn't face that kind of humiliation publicly.

Couldn't face that pompous douche Justin Hammer, creaming himself over getting his hands on Stark Tech.

On November 30th, he got a visit from Nick Fury.

They'd met before, of course, and Tony thought he'd been pretty clear then about how he felt about Fury's proposal. He'd said no to 'The Avengers Initiative,' and he'd figured that'd be the end of it, the end of his involvement with SHIELD.

It wasn't, apparently.

But Tony was _done _with the government, and that included the covert agency that Fury headed up. Fury wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, but Tony could out-stubborn anyone. And so, after a solid week of unanswered phone calls and ignored voicemails, Fury gave up and headed back to New York.

At least, Tony had assumed Fury had given up. He really should have known better.

The director left, in his wake, a collection of large black boxes, containing God knows what. Tony didn't give a shit; he left them untouched where they'd been set down by Fury's breaking-and-entering henchmen. After a few days, Tony got tired of tripping over them and shoved them off to one side of the living room, but aside from that, he ignored them entirely.

So, for a week after his last 'chat' with Fury (that is, the last ignored phone call), Tony stayed holed up in his lab. Alone. Pointedly not thinking about the more or less empty wasteland his life had become. It didn't take him long to knock together the specs for a new suit—that he'd been explicitly forbidden from constructing, like that was going to stop him—and he threw together the design for a new arc reactor, too. Granted, it still used palladium and was thus going to continue killing him if he stuck it in his chest, but he had to make sure he stayed on top of the game, that _he_ had the best tech available.

He was going to make what he'd handed over to the government look like it was straight out of the 1950s.

It was a productive week, all in all, and he was on quite the roll when he was interrupted early on December 14th.

Someone rang the doorbell.

That was strange for a couple of reasons. First and foremost, people did not ring Tony Stark's doorbell. Either they could just let themselves into the house, like Pepper or Rhodey (and Fury, that asshole, though Tony had fixed _that_ loophole in the system within the last week), or they couldn't actually make it to the door through the rest of the security system.

Second, it was—Tony checked his watch—3:04 AM. And he wasn't expecting any visitors.

Tony was between PAs at the moment—none of them lasted like Pepper had—and it was the middle of the night anyway, so he couldn't just push the unfortunate duty of checking this out on someone else. Which meant he could either deal with it or ignore it. He'd just decided to ignore it and get back to work when whoever it was rang the bell again. Apparently, they were insistent. And annoying. With a frustrated sigh, Tony called, "JARVIS, gimme the video feed from the front door."

"Of course, sir."

A moment later, it was up on his screen. And he got a pretty clear view of the guy standing at his front door.

He didn't look threatening. Looked kinda geeky, actually, like he'd wandered over from Caltech or something. But the nervous way he kept looking over his shoulder, the way he'd jumped when he'd heard the camera by the door moving? That was setting off alarm bells. That kind of paranoia didn't look good on anyone.

_What's he so worried about_?

As Tony watched, the guy rang the doorbell again, looking back behind him like he was expecting someone or something to leap out of the nearby bushes and attack.

Rolling his eyes, Tony stood and made his way to the staircase. Obviously this guy wasn't going to leave, and he was apparently scared half out of his wits about _something_ so...might as well let him in, right? It was humanitarian.

Worst case scenario, this guy was some crack addict or something, and had, through some weird stroke of luck, managed to make it to Tony's door. Tony doubted it, though; his life was never, _ever_ that mundane. And he had a feeling this, whatever it was, wasn't going to be mundane _at all_.

When he got to the door, Tony took a moment to look out the peephole and get a better look at his visitor. He was, Tony could see, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and fiddling with the hem of his shirt so energetically that it'd started to come unraveled He had a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and it had definitely seen better days. His hair was sticking straight up, like he'd been running his hand through it, and the glasses perched on his nose were just _slightly _askance. He looked, in a phrase, completely insane.

Slowly, Tony cracked the door open, standing behind it, out of sight. "What do you want?"

There was a long pause. Then, "Hi. Um. This is, uh. Really awkward, I know. And it's late, I'm sorry if I woke you. But I'm looking for, um, Tony Stark?"

"What for?" This wasn't exactly boding well, and after the year he'd been having, Tony wouldn't put it past this guy to be some kind of would-be assassin. And he wasn't about to let a would-be assassin saunter into his house. Of course, Tony very much doubted that any would-be assassin would be this damn _awkward_. Or nervous.

Not that Tony knew many assassins personally.

Tony heard his visitor take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Uh, well. It's kind of personal, and um, I'd rather not talk about it unless—"

Unable to take the nervous stuttering another minute—his own personal safety be damned—Tony stepped out from behind the door, flinging it wide. He stuck his hand out. "Tony Stark. Now who are you and what the fuck are you doing here?"

His visitor took his hand and shook it. "Um. Bruce Banner." He looked over his shoulder again. "Can I, uh. Come in?"

Tony was sorely tempted to say 'no.' But now this guy had a name, and he really seemed too innocuous (and nervous) to be much of a threat, so Tony stepped aside. "Sure." He was, after all, not the kind of person to back away from something like this. Really, he tended to bound head first into bizarre situations.

Stepping inside, Banner cast one last look behind him before he shut the door. He set his bag on the floor. Then the two men stared awkwardly at each other in the foyer for almost five seconds before Tony—realizing that Banner had no intent of taking the initiative here—said, "Come on. Let's go down to my lab."

Might as well be comfortable for whatever this was, right?

Silently, Banner followed him through the house and back down the stairs. In the lab, Tony quickly closed out everything he'd been working on and scrounged up another chair before flopping into his. "So. What's with the late night visit, Mr. Banner?"

"Doctor," Banner corrected absently, almost like it was an old habit he hadn't quite managed to break yet. He glanced around, taking in his surroundings. For a moment, Tony was worried—was this some government spy, here to check on him?—but then he realized that Banner wasn't actually looking at anything important. In fact, he seemed to be rather fixated on DUM-E, who was whizzing around in the background.

Not really something anyone with the government would be very interested in.

Plus, the small smile on Banner's face was way more 'that's so cool' than 'I have to report that.'

Still, it was time to get down to business. "Okay, _Dr_. Banner." Tony prompted, letting some of his irritation slip into his voice. "What gives?"

The smile faded from his face and Banner clenched his hands briefly on the arms of his chair before he answered, "I'm here to help you."

Oh, this was just getting _way_ too weird for Tony's tastes. He asked, "Help me with what?"

Banner pointed at Tony's chest. "The palladium poisoning."

Tony didn't even realize he was standing up before he was on his feet. "How the _fuck_ do you know about that?" No one knew about that. Not Pepper, not Rhodey. Tony had told _no one._

Banner put his hands up in a placating gesture. "Look, um. I'm sorry. It's just...this has been one _hell_ of a weird day for me and, uh. Yeah. Do you know Nick Fury?"

Oh. So _that's_ where all of this fuckery was coming from. Somehow, Tony was completely unsurprised. "Damn straight I do." Tony scowled, wandering over to a workbench and picking up a screwdriver. He had a brief fantasy of shoving it through Fury's remaining eye.

Banner snorted softly. "I met him today. Yesterday. I, um." Tony glanced over his shoulder at the hesitation and Banner looked up from his shoes, meeting Tony's eyes. "Do you know who I am?"

That was easy. "Hell no. Should I?"

Fiddling with the hem of his shirt again, Banner answered, "I...no. It'd just be easier if you did." He paused. "It's just...I was up in Canada and...Fury found me."

Tony said nonchalantly, sauntering back towards his chair, "Yeah, that asshole does that. It's kind of his thing."

Banner did not seem reassured. "He _found_ me. Just like that. I didn't realize it could be so _easy_, I thought I was safe—"

"Safe from what?" Tony interjected. But then he thought back to how Banner had been acting when he'd been stuck on the front porch. The paranoia. Oh, it was _obvious_. "Is there someone after you?"

With a humorless chuckle, Banner affirmed, "Oh, yeah. Um. The army? I mean, not _all _of it, but definitely...some."

_Who the hell did I just let into my house?_

Tony, quite calmly, made it the rest of the way back to his chair and fell into it. When he was more or less situated, he demanded, "Okay. The _army_ is after you? Who the fuck are you, exactly?"

With a weary sigh, Banner reached into his pocket and pulled out a thumb drive. He handed it to Tony, pointedly not looking him in the eyes. "Here. Fury said it'd probably be easier this way." Suddenly, he stood. "Hey, uh, mind if I use your bathroom?"

"Huh? Sure." Tony gave him a vague set of directions and waved him off. Then, not even noticing if Banner was heading in the right direction (he was too interested in finding out what the hell was going on and really, this guy was harmless anyway), he swivelled around and stuck the thumb drive in a nearby console.

He settled in to read.

* * *

_Holy shit._

'_Harmless,' right. Wow, Stark. _

When Tony finished reading through the contents of the thumb drive (which consisted largely of SHIELD's records on the guy), he'd re-evaluated his earlier assessment of Banner.

This guy was one badass motherfucker.

Obviously, he was brilliant. Now that Tony had a framework to work with, now that he'd been reminded, he _did_ know who Bruce Banner was—a few years ago, he'd read his work on anti-electron collisions, and it was, frankly, unparalleled. The man was, without doubt, a genius. Tony even had to begrudgingly admit that Banner would give _him_ a run for his money in the intelligence department.

That was awesome enough, but there was _so_ much more.

For one, Banner was tough as hell—that much gamma radiation should have killed him, but he was still alive and kicking. Despite the best efforts of the army, despite having been hounded across the country, the guy was still alive. It was stunning.

And two, well, good lord, it was incredible what he could do.

Or immensely dangerous. But Tony was definitely leaning towards incredible.

Even if the guy _had_ taken out a couple of city blocks here and there. It wasn't like he'd meant to do it.

The casualties...well, it wasn't like Tony could really judge that, either. Not after what _he'd_ spent most of his life doing.

And Banner was clearly judging the hell out of himself. Tony thought back to how closed off Banner had been when he'd handed over the thumb drive, how he'd done his best to vacate the room immediately afterwards. He was clearly expecting the worst, clearly had a lot of practice at castigating himself. Tony wasn't going to get on that boat. He had exactly zero room to do it.

Glancing quickly at the clock, Tony was amazed to see that almost an hour had passed since he'd started reading. A very _silent_ hour. He spun around, looking back at where Banner had been sitting earlier.

He wasn't there.

_Where the fuck did he go_? _Did he just cut and run? What the hell?_ "JARVIS—"

"Dr. Banner is in the living room, sir."

Tony heaved a sigh, part beleaguered, part relieved. Now that he knew _who_ this guy was (and boy was that a lot to take in on its own), he _really _needed to get to the 'why' part. For example, he really wanted to know why that asshole Fury was sending a nuclear physicist his way.

Especially _this_ nuclear physicist.

At least now he got why Banner had been so uptight when he'd been outside. Tony figured if he had the army after him, he'd probably be a little twitchy, too. Especially if it happened that if he happened to get provoked, he might take out God knows how many people. And potentially city blocks.

Yeah, Tony thought he got it.

Standing, he stretched before heading towards the stairs. When he got to the living room, he was unsurprised to see Banner sprawled on a couch, fast asleep. It made sense; the guy had apparently had quite the day, and being that _nervous_ all the time had to be exhausting.

Not to mention the amount of control he had to keep over himself. It was actually intimidating to think about.

So he wasn't going to. Instead, Tony strode over to the couch and tapped on the sole of one of Banner's shoes. "Morning, Sunshine. We need to talk."

Banner jerked awake, snapping upright before he was even fully conscious. Tony reflected briefly on the possible repercussions of startling a man who, he'd just learned, tended to turn into a large, green rage monster when feeling emotional. Apparently, though, Banner had a pretty good handle on it; for a moment, he looked startled, and Tony thought he saw a flash of green in his eyes, but then he cleared his throat and straightened, pulling back and away from Tony.

He launched immediately into an apology. "Hey. Um. Sorry. You were reading and I, uh..." he looked down at his hands, clasped in his lap.

"Fell asleep on my couch, yeah, I get it," Tony said easily, settling down in a nearby chair. This whole thing was awkward as hell, but he wasn't going to let that stop him. "So, I read everything on that thumb drive. Did Fury just hand that to you and tell you to deliver it or what? 'Cause that's a fucked up way to do an introduction. I mean, you could have just printed up your CV."

The look Banner was giving him was incredulous. "What?" Tony demanded.

As if he was talking to someone very, very slow, Banner asked, "You _did_ read those files, right?"

Tony nodded. "Sure did." Then, since Banner didn't look any less confused, Tony decided to help him out. "You're worried that I'm gonna freak out about the whole rage-monster thing. I'm not. It's cool."

Banner flinched visibly at the phrase 'rage monster,' but Tony plowed on, "Anyway, whatever, right? It's not like that's going to be a problem." Banner's jaw dropped open, which didn't do much for Tony's already-tenuous belief in what he'd said. But what he'd seen so far indicated it wasn't going to be a problem. And when in doubt, exude confidence. That had been his strategy so far, and it hadn't let him down yet.

Crossing his legs, Tony leaned back, lacing his fingers together behind his head. "So what's the deal with you and Fury? 'Cause I told that dick that I didn't want anything to do with him, and now he's sending me, uh, irradiated charity-case physicists and I don't know what the fuck he wants me to do with you."

He looked at Banner expectantly.

For once, Banner took the hint that it was time for him to speak. "Well, uh. Basically? He found me in British Columbia, took me to some creepy facility, and told me some stuff about what's going on with you and the, um, palladium poisoning. Said some really cryptic stuff, but the gist of it was that he thinks that there might be a solution for it that you haven't thought of yet."

"Yeah?" Tony asked, interest piqued. "What kind of solution?" Because he'd tried everything, he thought, and he'd gotten nowhere. He'd let his irritation with Fury slide if he got some answers.

Banner shrugged stiffly. "Not sure. Fury suggested we start by looking through some of the stuff your dad left you—"

"Uh, yeah. That? Not going to happen." Tony had no interest in going through that stuff, had no interest in thinking about his dad. He already felt like enough of an idiot, enough of a failure. Didn't need that on top of it.

One corner of Banner's mouth turned up. "Fury said you'd say that."

Annoyed (because Fury was such an _asshole—_screw that thing about letting his irritation with the director slide), Tony demanded, "And he sent you here to, what, convince me?"

"Not really. He just said I might be helpful, if you ever _did_ 'get your head out of your ass.'"

Ugh. Fucking Fury. Tony was ready to snap something along the lines of 'get the fuck out of my house' or 'I work alone,' or 'I don't need help,' but the really tense, defensive way Banner was wedged into the corner of the couch stopped him abruptly. Clearly, the other man didn't like this any more than he did. He'd been dragged out of Canada—where he _thought_ he'd been hiding, he _thought_ he'd been safe—and had been taken into custody by some covert government agency. That had to suck—from what Tony had read, Banner's dealings with the government tended to be generally violent or traumatic or both. So that'd probably fucked with him. 'Cause really, if Tony thought _he_ had some good reasons to have a beef with the government, he had _nothing_ on Banner. But despite that, the guy _was _here, even as there was no clear benefit in this for him, even as he'd clearly be just about anywhere else. For whatever reason, he'd decided that _this_ was something he wanted to do. At least, Tony _hoped_ that's what Banner had decided. But it didn't really seem like Fury to be outright coercive, to force someone to do something.

_Not outright coercive, no...maybe manipulative, but not coercive._

Anyway, for whatever reason (and Tony _would _figure it out, he decided) Banner wasn't running, even though it was evident he wanted to.

So Tony wasn't going to run, either.

And maybe..._maybe _working with another person could be useful. Maybe even...fun.

If he saved his own life in the process, well, that wouldn't be so bad, either.

Instead of saying something snarky, then, Tony just nodded tersely. "Fine. So, what, you're supposed to stick around 'til we figure this shit out?"

Mutely, Banner nodded.

"And if I say no?" Tony thought it was worth knowing what would happen.

"Uh...then I guess I try to find a way out of one of the most densely populated areas in the country." The way Banner spoke indicated that doing so might be an issue. Or maybe that just being in one of the most densely populated areas in the country at all was a problem.

_You think, Stark?_

But that did raise an interesting question. "How did you get here, anyway? And how did you get in? 'Cause uh, this place? Kinda supposed to be impenetrable. And you don't really seem like the penetrating type."

Banner shot him a look, like he couldn't decide if he should be amused or annoyed by the phrasing. "SHIELD. One of their agents dropped me off..." he trailed off. "What do you mean, 'impenetrable'? The agent...she didn't have any trouble getting past the security gates."

Tony grumbled. Apparently, he needed to tweak the system _again_.

Well, he'd already made his decision, anyway, so how Banner planned to get out of here was a moot point. "Sure. Fine. You can stay. I can do this. I guess." Or at least he'd try. But then he thought of something. A problem. One thing he still didn't get. "Why's Fury so worried about me, anyway?" Tony had told the director that he wasn't interested in the super secret boy band, so why did it matter so much what happened to him now? Fury didn't strike him as that much of a humanitarian.

Banner clearly didn't have the answer, either. He just shrugged and answered hesitantly, "I think...when it comes to SHIELD...we shouldn't ask too many questions."

_That_, Tony decided with a critical look at Banner, _is an idea that's just not going to stand._

Well, he was apparently going to have time to work on it. Since Banner was his new roommate and all.

Whatever.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

**So, what did you think? Please review and let me know.**

**Hopefully, any lingering questions will be addressed in subsequent chapters...**


	2. Spilled Coffee

**My beta, irite, is awesome.**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

That night (morning, what-the-hell-ever), Tony put his house into lockdown.

Even more than he did when he had his one-night stands over. Women were trustworthy. Worst they'd do was rob him blind, and there wasn't really a whole lot around his house that he was overly attached to—contents of his lab and garage aside. Banner, though...Tony still couldn't get a read on him. He _seemed _genuine, sure, seemed to be exactly what he said he was.

As terrifying as that was.

But the fact remained that, genuine or not, Banner been sent by Fury, and _Fury_ wasn't trustworthy. The _government_ wasn't trustworthy, and even though Banner apparently didn't want any more to do with those assholes than he did, the fact remained that _Fury had sent him_.

Tony didn't trust him. Banner. Well, either of them.

He didn't let that get in the way of his hospitality, though. He was as hospitable as he could manage. He hadn't even mentioned the 'I don't trust you' thing. He'd just shown Banner to one of the guest rooms (after stopping in the foyer to grab his bag—which Tony even carried himself), and had instructed the physicist to ask JARVIS if he needed anything—after explaining briefly what JARVIS was (Banner had been suitably impressed—that had helped his case, just a little). Tony finished by saying they'd talk in the morning.

"And by morning, I mean afternoon."

A concession that Banner seemed appreciative of, if the slight slump of his shoulders and easing of the worry lines on his forehead were anything to go by. But then, he could have just been giving into exhaustion at that point. Honestly, the man looked like he hadn't gotten a decent night's sleep in a month. And it seemed to have been about that long since he'd eaten, judging by the way his clothes seemed to hang on him (no clothing could possibly be _that_ ill-fitting). His life couldn't have been easy since his...accident. It was probably hard to come by steady meals, when the United Fucking States Army was on your ass.

So, after a moment's consideration, Tony decided to leave the kitchen open for him.

But _aside _from that, he put the house on lockdown. Of course, it wasn't _actually_ locked. No, it was just that Banner couldn't access anything except his bedroom, the attached bathroom, and the kitchen—if he tried to go anywhere else, JARVIS would immediately alert Tony about the attempted 'infiltration.'

Thus, Tony felt more or less secure as he left Banner in his room and headed to his own. After all, the security precautions were probably unnecessary—you could tell just by looking at him that Banner wouldn't hurt a fly.

Except, well, if he was angry.

But that wasn't going to be an issue.

Nope. Wasn't going to be an issue at all.

As Tony drifted off to sleep, it sort of became a mantra.

* * *

Tony woke up at 10:56 AM, which was at least an hour and four minutes earlier than he'd intended.

He marveled momentarily at the novelty of being early for something (even if it was his own return to consciousness) before prying himself from bed and heading to the bathroom to make an attempt at grooming.

While he was working on that, JARVIS gave him the rundown of what had happened overnight. Which, for all of JARVIS's verbiage, boiled down to 'nothing.' Banner had not left his room during the night and had made no movements to exit so far that morning.

Tony sighed and set all of the security protocols back to 'normal.' He went downstairs.

It was kind of disappointing that Banner was still asleep. Tony had an agenda, after all. But as much as Tony wanted to dive into poking at Banner, _maybe _even start working on what they were 'supposed' to be doing (although he'd be damned if he'd let Fury or any government automaton dictate what he was going to do), he knew this situation was actually ideal; with Banner still indisposed, it'd give Tony the time to do a little bit of research.

So he grabbed his customary breakfast of green goop and coffee (and toast, because _apparently_ he actually needed to eat sometimes, as recent bouts with hypoglycemia had shown) and headed down to his lab.

After he'd woken everything up and had his music the way he wanted it, he sat down at his desk, leaning back in his chair. He called out, "JARVIS, get me everything you can find on our guest."

The AI sounded confused when he replied, "Sir, you uploaded Dr. Banner's file last night. Do you wish to peruse that information?"

Obviously not, or he would have _asked _for that. "No, J, I want everything you can find that _didn't_ come from SHIELD. Because SHIELD is all hush-hush secret government shit, and I don't trust it. C'mon, buddy, keep up."

"Ah. Of course, sir. I apologize for assuming you would want to act in a non-paranoid manner. Commencing search now. All accessible databases world-wide will be queried. Are there any restrictions or additional search parameters you would like me to incorporate, sir?"

Tony considered for a moment. "No, just hit me with all of it." He didn't exactly have a lot of pressing plans, he could probably find the time to read it. It wasn't like there was a huge emergency going on (except the decline of his health and well, that wasn't really _pressing_) so if it took him a few days to get through the material, that was fine.

"Certainly, sir. Estimated time until completion is fifty seven minutes."

Tony took a long drink of his chlorophyll smoothie, then pulled up the plans for his new arc reactor. There was, after all, always room for improvement, and he might as well get some work done while he waited. Fifty-seven minutes wasn't so bad, considering that by 'accessible' databases, JARVIS meant all the ones he could hack without Tony's input.

Half an hour later, JARVIS spoke up. "Sir, Dr. Banner has exited his room. Shall I send him in your direction?"

"No," Tony answered quickly. "Send him towards the kitchen, I'll be up in a minute. And JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't mention anything about the search—"

The AI interrupted, sounding (if possible) offended. "Sir, you can always count on me to be discreet."

And wasn't that true? But Tony didn't really want to stop and ponder the innumerable times that JARVIS had kept his (often embarrassing) secrets for him, so he just snapped, "Noted. Geez, touchy this morning, aren't we?"

JARVIS did not dignify that with a reply, and Tony quickly closed out everything he was working on before bounding towards the stairs.

When he got to the kitchen, he saw Banner hovering in one of the other doorways, looking a little bit overwhelmed. Aside from that, though, he looked a lot better than he had the previous night; less tired, less panicked, less unkempt. His glasses were on straight, he'd clearly showered, and he'd changed—although the clothes he was wearing had seen better days.

Tony cleared his throat, and Banner looked over at him. He didn't seem exactly _relieved _to see Tony, but he gave a forced-looking smile and greeted him, "Morning."

"It is, isn't it?" Tony responded, making his way to the coffee machine for a refill. He gestured towards it, feeling magnanimous. "Can I get you a cup?"

"Huh? Oh, um, no. I don't drink coffee," Banner answered with a shadow of a smirk. "Caffeine's a stimulant, and, uh, I try to avoid those. On principle."

Duh. That made sense. Tony momentarily pondered the horror of a life without caffeine before he offered, "Uh, okay then. Juice? Is in the fridge. I think." He added, "I have food."

Banner furrowed his brows. "That's...good?"

With an eyeroll, Tony clarified, "Are you hungry? 'Cause mi casa es su casa or something. So help yourself to whatever you can find. But, just so you know...I'm sure as hell not cooking." Honestly, for someone with a supposedly immeasurable IQ, this guy was pretty slow on the uptake. Tony leaned back against the counter, sipping his coffee, watching his guest.

Banner made his way into the kitchen. He reached for one of the cupboards, and JARVIS spoke up helpfully, "Glasses and plates are in the cabinet to your left, Dr. Banner."

"Thanks," Banner said, changing course and going for the indicated cabinet. He pulled out a glass and got himself some orange juice from the fridge. Then, taking his glass, he sat down at the island in the middle of the kitchen, grabbing a pear from the fruit bowl in front of him. He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. He did not offer any more attempts at conversation.

Tony sighed. He hated silence. And this wasn't just silence, this was _awkward_ silence. Sure, this was an awkward situation, but that didn't mean it had to be, well, _this_ awkward. So Tony piped up, "You know, most of the people who come to my house at three in the morning don't get to stay for breakfast."

He reflected briefly that, even though his first instinct was to hit on anything with legs, that _probably _wasn't the best way to relieve the awkwardness between them.

Then Banner snorted. "I've heard you've got quite the, um, track record. I was honestly kind of surprised when your PA didn't shove me out the door this morning with my dry cleaning. Actually, I was kind of disappointed. You know. That I wouldn't get the full experience." He put his elbows up on the counter next to him, nearly knocking his juice over in the process. He fumbled with the glass before setting it solidly upright next to him and frowning at it accusingly.

Tony smirked. First, apparently Christine Everhart had a big mouth, and was having a grand ol' time spreading that story around (_Doesn't she realize that it just makes her sound desperate?_). Second, and more importantly, Tony was having the beginnings of a fantastically bad idea. _Fantastically _bad. But it fit into his overarching plan to poke at Banner, and what better time to start than now? It was starting sooner than he'd planned, yeah, and he didn't have as much information as he'd like, but he had enough to go on.

And Tony never let something like lack of data stop him from running a test.

So Tony sauntered across the room, towards the island, chatting animatedly. "Well, I'm actually between assistants at the moment. I have a couple of interviews tomorrow, but I'm not too optimistic—they just don't make 'em like they used to. I mean, I could throw you to the curb myself, but I know it wouldn't be the same..." As he talked he moved closer to Banner. When he was close enough, he 'tripped' over the stool next to Banner, casually spilling the contents of his coffee cup down the back of the other man.

And then he watched.

Banner froze, pear halfway to his mouth. For five seconds, he did not move. Then, he carefully set the pear down and turned, craning his neck, to fix Tony with an annoyed look. "Could you maybe...in the future...not do that?"

"I am _so _sorry," Tony started to apologize, but Bruce cut him off with a raised eyebrow. Tony shrugged and tried a different angle. "Yeah, okay, I'm not. I did it on purpose, I wanted to see what would happen."

Still looking annoyed, Banner replied, "You read the files, you know what could happen."

"Yeah, but—"

"Kind of irresponsible, don't you think?"

Tony considered pointing out that 'irresponsible' was practically his middle name, but he thought better of it. Instead, he wordlessly offered Banner a roll of paper towels.

The physicist took them and tried to dry off the best he could. It was mostly futile, and he stood up to wipe the coffee up off the floor instead. "Anyway, sorry to disappoint, but it's going to take a lot more than spilled coffee." Banner shrugged, tossing the sodden paper towels in the garbage. "Jumping out of a helicopter, anti-aircraft artillery...that sort of thing would do it. Tepid coffee...not so much."

Tony thought it said a lot that _he'd_ spilled coffee all over Banner, and Banner hadn't even hinted that he should clean it up his damn self. He also thought it was interesting how blasé Banner sounded referencing the fact that he'd both jumped out of a helicopter _and _faced anti-aircraft artillery. _This_ was the sort of shit that SHIELD didn't have in their records, and it was exactly what Tony needed to know.

Well, 'needed' to know. Really, he didn't _need_ to know, but that sort of distinction never really stopped him, either.

Not much did.

All he said to Banner, though, was, "Huh. Good to know. I'll keep that in mind. You gonna go get changed or what? 'Cause we have work to do, and time's a-wastin'."

Looking _maybe_ an iota more annoyed than he had a moment ago, Banner nodded. "Yeah, gimme a few minutes. Want me to meet you in your lab?"

Tony nodded. JARVIS should have his search results by now, and he could get through some of it before Banner popped down. "Sure. Take all the time you need."

"You just said we're wasting time."

"Oh. Did I?" Tony slipped out of the kitchen before Banner could answer.

The physicist's aggrieved sigh was audible even as Tony ducked down the hallway.

Tony knew that he was giving the other man a lot of freedom in his house, especially for someone he barely knew and 'didn't trust.' The trust thing, though...Tony was pretty sure that was bullshit at this point, and he'd only known Banner for less than twelve hours. He'd be damned if he could explain it, but if he had to guess, it probably had a lot to do with how badly Banner had been screwed in life and how little he seemed to let it affect him. The guy seemed startlingly _normal_, considering that 1) he sometimes turned into a rage monster and 2) he'd been hounded across the world by the U.S. Army. Fuck, he seemed more normal than Tony. Anyone else, and Tony might think it was an elaborately constructed act, but this guy? Not a chance. Banner was way too awkward to pull of that kind of deception. Way too...honest.

And instinctively, Tony just _trusted_ the guy. Like he was the type to help little old grandmas cross the street or something, not the type to go screwing around with Tony's stuff, trying to accomplish some shady government agenda.

But that burgeoning trust wasn't going to stop Tony from poking around. Because, as it's already been established, very little will stop Tony Stark when he's on a mission.

Back in his lab, Tony gave the list of results JARVIS had compiled for him a cursory look before arranging them chronologically. It was actually pretty scant, far less than Tony had been expecting. Mostly, it was publications from various peer-reviewed physics journals, with the odd newspaper clipping here and there—birth announcement, some stuff from Caltech's student-run paper, that sort of thing.

As fascinating as the publications were, Tony was really more interested in the personal stuff, so he started in on that.

Half an hour later, he'd made it through all of non-science journal stuff. Which, as a whole, was more or less tragic—as the early newspaper clippings had revealed, if Tony thought _he_ had a pitiful orphan story going on, he had _nothing_ on Banner. The stuff from Caltech was more benign, mostly just chronicling Banner's progress towards his PhD and the various awards and honors he'd accrued while he was there. Pretty interesting stuff all around, and it gave Tony a hell of a lot to think about.

But it had been half an hour, and Banner still hadn't made his way down to the lab, so Tony was going to have to postpone his pondering for now. Figuring he'd locked himself in a closet, or gotten lost, or something, Tony was about to head upstairs and rescue him when JARVIS said, "Dr. Banner is en route, sir, it may be expedient to close out your current reading."

Tony took his AI's advice. "Thanks, J."

A moment later, Banner wandered in. He'd changed, and it looked like he'd showered again, which explained why he'd taken so long. It didn't occur to Tony to feel bad about dousing him in coffee (because it rarely, if ever, occurred to Tony to feel bad about anything) so with a grin he said, "Geez, just keep me waiting all day, damn. Like I don't have anything better to do than sit around waiting for your sorry ass."

The look Banner shot him was undeniably annoyed (Tony was beginning to wonder if Banner even _had_ any other facial expressions), but his tone was mild when he replied, "Yeah, sorry, some...asshole dumped his coffee on me. And apparently it was half sugar because it was sticky as hell."

Okay, maybe not _that_ mild.

"Geez, someone's touchy." Tony leaned back in his chair, ignoring how Banner was rolling his eyes. Honestly, if Banner thought he was annoying now, he was in for a hell of a surprise when Tony got into gear—he had it on good authority that he could be one annoying motherfucker. "So, why don't you sit down and tell me a little bit more about what Nicky has in mind for our little project here?"

Banner cleared a pile of paper and other detritus that had accumulated on his chair overnight and sat down. Then he shrugged. "I don't really know, Stark. Magic? He seemed to be expecting magic."

Well, that wasn't very helpful.

Banner went on, "He seemed to think the stuff your dad left you would be a good place to start," Apparently seeing Tony's imminent interruption, he continued louder, "BUT I'm sure we can figure out what we're supposed to do without it. I mean, I'm sure you have some ideas, right?"

As a matter of fact, Tony...didn't. He'd been working on the palladium poisoning problem since he'd started going toxic. He couldn't find anything that would completely mitigate the effects—though he had some promising leads on temporary solutions—and he'd looked into every known element as a replacement. None of them would work. Neither would any possible permutation or combination. So, short of going back to a car battery, he didn't have a whole lot of ideas.

And he wasn't going back to a car battery.

So Tony shook his head. "Actually, I'm about as clueless as you are. Which was why I was hoping that asshole had _said _something."

"I'm assuming by 'that asshole' you mean, Fury, right?" Banner asked. Tony nodded, and Banner continued, "Well, he's really not a scientist."

"No shit," Tony muttered.

Banner ignored him and suggested quietly, "But I'm sure he has scientists working for him. They might know something."

Tony looked up, surprised. "Are you saying we should hack SHIELD?"

Banner raised his eyebrows, looking alarmed. "No! I mean, we could just _ask_, but—"

"But Fury can fuck off," Tony finished, blithely uncaring if that was what Banner was going to say or not. "Banner, I like the way you think. Very devious. I'm ashamed I didn't think of it myself." Although, honestly, if he'd thought SHIELD had any answers for him, he probably would have thought of it himself. He'd just had no reason to think as much before Banner had shown up on Fury's little mission.

Now, though, he had a goal. Which was more than he'd had twelve hours ago, when all he'd had was, well, nothing. Except the increasingly loud ticking in his ear of time running out.

Tony stood and walked over to Banner, clapping him on the shoulder. His mood was suddenly ebullient. "How hard can it be to hack them, I mean, they're a government agency, they seem to excel in mediocrity. I'm sure their network security protocols are no different."

"Um," Banner hedged, "Probably not very, but Stark—"

"Ugh, call me Tony for God's sake—"

"Okay, Tony, but hacking a federal agency is a felony and—" Banner sounded tense.

But it barely registered with Tony. He waved off Banner's concerns with an airy, "I have good lawyers. And they'll never know I was there anyway." Tony paced over to his workbench and back, thinking, planning.

"Sure, but _I _don't have good lawyers, I mean, I barely count as 'human' and I don't really want..." Banner trailed off.

It took Tony a minute to put it together, and when he did, he could've smacked himself in the forehead. "You're worried you're going to be arrested." Or worse. He'd been thinking that Banner was being protected by SHIELD, but apparently that wasn't the case, if Banner was worried that he could be taken into custody if someone came poking around. And if SHIELD wasn't protecting him...that made him really vulnerable. So of course he wouldn't want to risk something like hacking SHIELD.

Banner nodded. "I don't really want to make a lot of waves. I mean, I can probably get out of here, if I have to, but..." he looked down, "Trying to run from somewhere like Malibu...it's kinda tricky. There's a lot of people, not a lot of space..."

Tony frowned. Now that he was thinking about it, he _really_ wanted the info from SHIELD. But he didn't want to be an asshole about it, didn't want to but Banner in a situation where he'd have to run. Or try to. Tony was just barely starting to get to know the guy, but he could tell that he had some pretty extensive fears of the government, some pretty extensive fears of _himself_, of what he could do if he was cornered. Tony didn't want to put that on him.

Especially if it might put his own stuff at risk of massive destruction. Or, well, the rest of Malibu.

And there _was_ something he could do, first, before hacking SHIELD. Before even _asking_ SHIELD for anything.

He could go through the boxes from his dad. As much as it pissed him off, he could do that, at least. He didn't know what he'd find, but Fury seemed to think it was where they should start. Tony might rather cut his right arm off than take orders from Fury, and he might rather cut his left off than deal with his dad, but for once in his life, he was in a position where he actually had to think about how his actions affected another person.

It sucked.

He looked up at Banner. "How 'bout we go through the boxes upstairs, first? See if there's anything useful in those, work from there?"

Banner looked surprised. "Thought you were against that?"

Tony nodded. "Fucking right I am. But it's as good a place as any to start. And it's non-felonious." He moved towards the stairs. "Come on. Might as well get this over with."

Banner stood as well, following him up to the living room.

Tony stopped en route to pick up a bottle of scotch and a pair of glasses. It was, by his estimation, about time for a drink. It was just after noon, and it was _definitely_ like, way after noon in the more easterly timezones, so he didn't feel any guilt. He set the bottle and glasses on one of the tables in the living room and poured himself a glass. Then he looked up at Banner. "Alcohol's a depressant. No excuses."

Banner nodded, awkward. "Uh, yeah, it is." Tony started pouring him a glass, too. "But I generally don't, um." Tony handed the glass to him, and Banner sighed before accepting, "Okay."

"A toast," Tony proposed. "To the weirdest fucking day of my life. Well, second weirdest day of my life. Sorry, but this loses out to waking up in a cave with a car battery hooked to my chest." He raised his glass.

After a second's hesitation, Banner lifted his, and they clinked them together. Tony knocked his drink back in one swallow and poured himself another. Banner took a small sip.

Second drink in hand, Tony gestured at the boxes in the corner. "I say we just dig in. If you find anything useful, let me know. If you find any embarrassing baby pictures of me or something, set them on fucking fire. 'Kay?"

Banner nodded his agreement. He set his drink down (still mostly untouched) and walked over to the pile of boxes, pulling one from the top. He carried it over and set it down next to a chair, which he ignored in favor of sitting down on the ground. He opened the box and began rooting through its contents.

Content that he was hard at work, Tony followed his lead. He took a large swallow from his drink before he cracked open the top of his box.

_Come on, Stark, how bad can it really be?_

_Well, considering how much the guy hated me...these boxes might just be filled with bombs_.

Tony sighed at his own melodrama. Sure, he and his dad hadn't gotten along—Howard had been the war hero, Tony had been the spoiled, selfish little brat with too much money and too many toys and not nearly enough respect for the people who 'deserved' it. But Howard hadn't hated him.

No, he'd just been profoundly indifferent.

Tony sighed again, ignoring the concerned look he could feel Banner shooting at him. The faster they figured this out, faster they could get off memory lane. Faster Banner could get SHIELD off his back and go back to doing...whatever the fuck it was he'd been doing in Canada. And, most importantly, faster Tony could get back to thinking up the most creative possible way to tell the U.S. government to go fuck itself.

It was with that comforting thought that Tony opened the first file he pulled out of the box and set to reading.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone for reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing.**

**Reviews are the light of my life, so...I mean, not to pressure you or anything but...it'd really mean a lot?**


	3. Looking

**Thanks to my beta, irite, for being beta-tastic. She always is.**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

Banner was probably the quietest person Tony had ever known.

The man just didn't talk.

To Tony, who couldn't tolerate silence for more than five or so minutes at a time, this was a major problem.

So he attempted conversation. "Find anything good yet?"

Banner looked up from the box he was digging through. "Not really. Uh, nothing pertinent to the problem, anyway."

Nick Fury, that annoying jackass from SHIELD, had basically sent Tony Banner as a gift-wrapped study buddy to help solve the palladium poisoning problem that was slowly (but surely) killing him. Tony wasn't exactly sure _what _Fury intended for them to do, but the director had vaguely hinted that they look through the stuff that Howard had left for Tony.

Which they were doing, as much as Tony wanted to tell Fury where he could shove it. Tony wasn't feeling too friendly towards the government or any of its affiliates at the moment, not after they'd basically robbed him at gunpoint (well, prison-point, really) in the interest of national security. Really, the only reason he _wasn't_ sending Fury a friendly 'fuck you' e-mail and kicking Banner to the curb was that Banner didn't really have a choice about being here—Tony got the feeling that his participation in this whole affair was more coerced than he was letting on. And until he got to the bottom of what was going on, he was going to play along with Fury. After all, for all his apparent rage-monster tendencies, Banner seemed like a pretty decent guy, and he didn't really deserve to be stuck in the middle of this.

Banner immediately went back to digging and offered no further attempts at talking, so Tony prompted him, "Find anything _interesting, _at least_?_" He flipped idly through a photo album, wondering who had made this. The pictures were old, and Howard was far younger than he had been when Tony was born. So it was clearly the good old days.

"Um, not really. Just some stuff from when your dad was working with SHIELD, you know—"

"What?" Tony interrupted. He _didn't_ know. Fury hadn't mentioned that Howard had worked for SHIELD. Close-mouthed bastard.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Banner held up a couple pieces of paper. "Found his contract. Apparently, he was a founding member or something. Made sure they had the most cutting edge tech—"

Tony interrupted him again, this time by standing abruptly and snatching the papers out of Banner's hand. "What the hell?" He skimmed the document, which basically laid out the 'how and when' of Howard's involvement with the agency. "Fury didn't say anything about this." Howard had never said anything about it, either, but why would he have? The conversations he'd had with Tony tended to devolve quickly into lectures and shouting matches.

Banner offered, "Fury's not really the most...transparent guy ever. And, um..." he trailed off.

"What?" Tony demanded, impatient, still flipping through the pages Banner had found.

"Well, you probably weren't really in the mood for listening to him?"

Tony looked up from his reading to glare at him. But then...Banner had a point. Last time Fury had stopped by, they hadn't exactly sat down for tea and a chat. Tony had more or less shoved the director out the door. So, maybe Fury would have mentioned it, if Tony had given him a chance.

But he wasn't feeling that generous towards the director, and he resented Banner's logicality in the face of his irrationality. Thus, he answered tersely, "Whatever," and went back to his box.

He made no further attempts at conversation. He _did _turn on his music, though. Loudly.

Several hours later, they'd made it through most of the boxes. There were some vague allusions in Howard's research notes to some major project that he had wanted to get started on, but no evidence that he'd ever actually made any headway. All they had left to get through was a few video reels. It was frustrating, and annoying, and Tony was beginning to suspect that Fury just had a very, very twisted sense of humor, that there was no solution to be found, that this was just a way to distract him from his anti-government quest.

Which he hadn't even gotten a decent start on yet, damn it.

Whatever.

Aggravated, and yet feeling rather more...expansive than he had been a few hours previously (his continued consumption of scotch might have had something to do with it), Tony turned down his AC/DC and offered, "Wanna get some dinner, maybe popcorn? We can have 'movie night' or some shit. Get through this bullshit so I can determine exactly how much Fury is fucking with me."

Banner cocked his head to one side. "You think he is?"

Tony shrugged. "Banner, I have _no _fucking idea—"

Banner mumbled something.

Tony paused. "What was that?"

Banner rubbed the back of his head, stiff and uncomfortable. "Uh. Bruce. Please. The 'Banner' thing's kinda awkward."

Tony shrugged and resumed his rant. "Sure. Whatever. It's just, none of this stuff is _going_ anywhere. I thought there would be _something_ I could use, but all we've gotten is some hints and a whole lot of unnecessary backstory."

"We're not done, yet," Banner—_no, Bruce_—pointed out.

"Don't really think a bunch of outtakes and commercials are gonna hold the key to this," Tony said, gesturing vaguely at his chest.

With a raised eyebrow, Bruce mused, "Well, you can't know that. I mean...if your dad was anywhere near as, um, eccentric as you, you might be surprised..."

Surprised, Tony barked a laugh. "Yeah. Right. Eccentric. That runs right down the family line, Banner. Bruce. Okay, sure. Movie night it is, then. How do you feel about pizza?"

Honestly, Bruce didn't look like he was likely to turn down any food, ever, but Tony thought it would prudent to ask. Then again...Bruce seemed unlikely to ever eat unless Tony was shoving food in his face (the physicist had passed up a full kitchen and had opted for a _pear_ for breakfast, for god's sake), so maybe it would be better to just move ahead with his plans for 3-meat pizza and beer without asking for input.

"Pizza's fine," Bruce agreed amicably (like Tony had known he would...predictable). "But, um," he paused and then smirked before finishing, "Maybe something with only one kind of meat on it? I mean, you have a heart condition."

Surprised, Tony rolled his eyes dramatically and sighed. Maybe this guy wasn't quite as predictable as he'd thought.

* * *

"Oh, God, that's me," Tony moaned, throwing a piece of popcorn at the screen he'd set up in his living room. Ugh, he'd been such a goofy looking kid.

On screen, Howard was chastising little Tony. Tony didn't remember this particular incident, but it played out just like almost every encounter he _did_ remember having with his father—he got sent to his mother, toted away by one of the many harried nannies his family had employed.

In the chair next to Tony, Bruce mused, "Geez. Was he, uh, always like that, or was this a special occasion?"

Tony shrugged. "Mostly? Always like that. I mean, for the fifteen and a half seconds I saw of him during my life, anyway."

Bruce huffed a small laugh at the exaggeration, and the pair watched Howard wander around on screen for a moment, setting things right after little Tony's misadventure. Thinking that the video was about over, Tony stood to turn it off. He figured he'd better move quickly, in case younger-him decided to make a reappearance.

"Tony," Howard said, on screen, his voice a different timbre than when he had been correcting little Tony.

Tony stopped halfway to the projector, startled. Had little him come back already?

His bewilderment only grew as Howard, still alone, launched into some ridiculous spiel about how everything he'd built, he'd built for Tony, and how Tony was his greatest achievement, blah, blah, blah.

The reel actually ended before Tony moved again, and it was with a limp, boneless arm that he flipped the switch on the damn thing, turning it off. Then he stumbled back to his chair, kicking over the half-empty beer bottle he'd left on the ground on the way.

He didn't even notice the mess.

Voice tinged with concern, Bruce asked, "You okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure, no, it's fine. I mean..." he paused, head cocked to one side. "Did that actually happen?" Because he'd been drinking for most of the day, and while hallucinating wasn't normal for him, it was possible that he'd passed out and was, in fact, dreaming this.

"You mean...? Yeah, that just happened."

"You sure?" Tony asked. "We should watch it again. You know. Make sure." He pinched his arm. Viciously.

Bruce furrowed his eyebrows, before answering cautiously, "I mean, yeah, if you want, but..."

"But what?" Now reasonably certain that he was awake, Tony was trying to reconcile what he'd just seen with what he'd known about his father. He wasn't meeting with much success.

"It's probably nothing," Bruce muttered quickly, looking down. "It's just...something about that little model city...I don't know. Seems strange. He seemed awfully, uh, focused on it."

Tony hadn't noticed anything particularly strange about it, but then, he hadn't really been looking at the model. He'd been listening to his dad give the most unexpected speech ever. And this had already been the second strangest day of his life, so he wasn't exactly on top of his game. It hadn't even occurred to him to focus on anything but what was right in front of him. He asked, "What do you mean, strange?"

Bruce just shrugged. "Not sure. It just...I don't know. Something just seemed..." he waved an arm, morphing the gesture into another shrug before standing up. "Do you have a towel or something?"

Slumping back in his chair, Tony made a vague motion towards the kitchen. He didn't know how Bruce could think of _cleaning_ right now, but the physicist gathered up their plates and bottles before he slipped out of the room, returning a moment later with a roll of paper towels.

He knelt and wiped up the mess on the floor before speaking again. "It's okay to be...angry at your dad, you know."

Tony snorted. For one, he wasn't _angry_, just surprised. Second, coming from Bruce, well, it just seemed kind of funny. Because, really? Tony knew what happened when Bruce got angry, so him advocating the expression of anger just seemed like a bad, bad idea. It occurred to him that this might be kind of rude to point out, though, so Tony just stood up and clapped his hands together, saying, "Well, that was the last of it. So what now, my esteemed colleague?"

Apparently more than willing to accept the change in subject, Bruce answered, "No idea. Start at the beginning again?"

That sounded like hell on earth. Tony didn't really 'do' the whole sitting-around-and-reading thing. So instead, remembering that Bruce had found Howard's model interesting, Tony suggested, "I might have that model lying around somewhere. It was in my office when I was CEO, and Pep had most of that shit shipped over here during her first week on the job."

Bruce perked up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Actually, now that he thought about it, Tony knew exactly where the POS was. It had been clogging up a corner of his lab for weeks. Beckoning for Bruce to follow, he bounded towards the stairs.

Between the two of them, they managed to get the stupid thing up on a table. Looking at it, Tony could kind of see what Bruce meant. There was definitely something...weird about this thing. It was like looking at a stereogram, and he felt like if he kept looking at it, it might morph into something else, might come into focus.

"JARVIS, could you scan this thing?" Tony asked. Across the table, Bruce was rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Certainly, sir," the AI replied. A moment later, Tony lifted the virtual model off of the physical one and moved it to the center of the room. Bruce followed, brow furrowed.

"It kind of looks like..." he started, glancing over at Tony. "You think?"

Tony didn't answer, not quite sure what Bruce meant. He just stared at the model in front of him.

After several seconds, he was about ready to call it quits, to decide that this piece of crap was just an old model and nothing more when it _clicked._

"J, get rid of all the outbuildings," he demanded. Then he wiped a few more design elements off the model and flipped it up so that less-cluttered design floated in front of him and Bruce.

"It's an atom," Bruce said, surprised, looking at the image in front of him. "Of...a new element."

"Damn right it is," Tony muttered, awed. "Damn," he repeated. "Dad's been dead almost 20 years, and that asshole is _still _taking me to school." He spun on his heel, and began to pace. "So this is what he was talking about. He was limited by the technology of his time. He couldn't make this stuff a reality. But he thinks I could..."

Bruce just looked at the atom in front of him, taking it in.

"Sir," JARVIS spoke up, unprompted. "The proposed element has several unique properties. I believe that it—"

"Could be a replacement for the palladium," Bruce interrupted, pushing up his glasses, eyes rapidly scanning the image in front of him.

Tony stopped pacing. "Really?"

Bruce nodded. "I mean, if this is accurate—"

"Dr. Banner is correct, sir," JARVIS informed them.

Tony felt a huge, heavy weight slide off his shoulders, off his chest. "Well, okay then. Great. Really...really good."

But then a thought occurred to him. "Do you think Fury knew about this?" He didn't like the idea of being manipulated into doing this at Fury's whim for some nefarious purpose.

Bruce thought about it for a moment, before answering, "I don't think so. I mean...unless he's got someone _really_ bright working for him, or unless your dad told someone else about this...I don't see how he could. Or why he wouldn't just tell you outright. I mean, this _will _save your life."

That made sense, but Tony still wasn't sure. But this was all he had to work with. Did he really have a choice?

He looked at the model in front of him, then he shot a glance around his lab. This might actually be workable, and it was the best solution he'd seen yet...of course he never would have thought to synthesize a new fucking element on his own, even _he_ wasn't that audacious, but now that he had the idea...it was all he had.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. He had an idea, an AI, and a nuclear physicist with stunning anger management issues. And his own immense abilities, of course.

Yeah, this might be workable. "Guess we're going back into hardware mode, then." Tony looked around for his sledgehammer.

Which would have been all well and good, but Bruce stepped in and stopped him. "Yeah. You think you can actually make a new element? In your house? At 9:30 at night?"

Tony didn't really see what the time of day had to do with anything. "Yeah?"

Bruce looked concerned; Tony wasn't sure why.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing, really," Bruce answered. "It's just...seems kind of dangerous. Potential for disaster. You know, that sort of thing?"

Ah. Well, yeah. He _would_ be concerned about that sort of thing. Tony figured that if jumping out of a helicopter couldn't kill Bruce, then probably a massive explosion wouldn't, either. But it _would_ trigger his little...problem. And that wasn't something Tony wanted, for his own sake or for Bruce's. So he posed the question, "Well, what do you propose?"

"I think we should think about this. Have some sort of safety plan ready, just in case. At least give it a few days, you know?"

Tony didn't point out that Bruce really was the last person on the planet from whom he was going to take lab safety advice. Instead, he said, "Fine. Come up with some suggestions for me. I'm all ears. But we _are_ doing this."

Bruce nodded easily. "Sure." He paused, before suggesting, "Maybe sleep on it, come back to this in the morning?"

Tony was not accustomed to getting to sleep before one or two in the morning, but Bruce still looked kind of run down (even after Tony had seen to it that he was stuffed full of pizza and other snacks) so he nodded. "Works for me. Need anything before you go? Shampoo? Toothpaste? Sleepytime tea?" He paused, then added, "Bedtime story?"

"Nah," Bruce answered, ignoring Tony's increasingly ridiculous offers. "The, uh, guest room is better stocked than anywhere I've lived since 2006. And maybe before."

That was just sad. But then, Tony aimed for opulent. So maybe not. "Well, if you do need something, let JARVIS know. He knows this place better than I do, he'd probably be more helpful."

"Indeed," JARVIS asserted. "Mr. Stark is hardly capable of operating the dishwasher without close supervision."

"Fuck off, JARVIS," Tony snarked. But it _was_ true, and it reminded him... "I'm interviewing for a new PA tomorrow morning. The actual morning, too. Think you can keep yourself entertained while I'm gone?"

"Not sure," Bruce answered. "I mean, I might get tired of trying to think of ways to make a new element...but then, there's a TV in my room with something like 500 channels, and a laptop, and a tablet. I might get bored in a couple of years."

"Shouldn't take that long," Tony assured him. "My interviews tend to last about ten minutes...or until the applicant gets disgusted and storms off..." That had happened a fair number of times in recent memory. "I'll have J let you know when I'm back and we get started on the exciting shit."

With that, Bruce made his way back up to his room—Tony had JARVIS make sure—and Tony settled down in front of his workstation.

He didn't bother putting his house into lockdown this time. Bruce had proven his worth—he'd noticed that Howard was trying to say something with that model, had immediately picked up that the new element could replace the palladium in the arc reactor, _and_ he hadn't laughed at how funny Tony had looked when he was a kid. Not many people had credentials that impressive. Tony found he was actually starting to trust the other man, as evinced by the fact that he'd actually let Bruce talk him out of immediately proceeding into 'let's build shit' mode.

Tony sighed. He didn't collaborate with people, and he certainly didn't trust them. Except now he was doing both.

Wonderful.

* * *

Tony had to get up bright and early the next morning. This was annoying beyond belief, but he knew he couldn't complain about it. Pepper was taking pity on him, trying to find her own replacement. And Tony knew she was busy, didn't _have_ the time for that kind of thing, but she found it anyway. If she wanted to schedule interviews for him at ungodly hours of the morning, well, that was fine.

It was still annoying, though.

By 8:00 AM, Tony had made it to Stark Industries' headquarters and was gulping down a huge cup of coffee as fast as he could. He did the interviews here instead of at home because he didn't particularly like having strangers in his house (and what did it say that he'd just _left _Bruce there, _alone_). Furthermore, at headquarters, he could stop by and harass Pepper when he set his mind to it.

Unfortunately, his first interviewee was right on time, so he didn't get the opportunity.

The first candidate was a guy in his mid-twenties, and Tony wasn't too inclined to hire a man for the position, but he was equal opportunity. Too bad the guy couldn't handle Tony's equal opportunity flirting; he got flustered five minutes into the interview and practically ran out the door.

The second candidate was a woman, but she got offended when Tony demanded she get him a refill on his coffee, and didn't even make it through the first interview question.

He got his own refill.

While Tony was waiting for his third (and final) interviewee, he began to wonder if maybe he was just going to have to ask Pepper to both be CEO _and_ his PA. It seemed like a lot of work for one person, but he'd compensate her, and she was really the only competent person he'd ever hired, and she'd just been so damn good that Tony didn't know if anyone else could ever replace her.

Alternatively, he could learn to do his own shopping, and handle his own laundry, and manage his own appointments...but that _sucked_.

At 9:00 on the dot, there was a knock on the conference room door, and then his third candidate walked in.

Tony's first thought was, 'I want one.' Because she was drop-dead gorgeous.

He managed to somehow refrain from saying that, though, and instead stood up to shake her hand. "Hi. I'm Tony Stark," he said, all the while castigating himself for his idiocy—_of course she knows that, dumbass_—and trying to remember the name he'd read on her file a minute ago. Of course he hadn't read the file—waaaay too much work—but he'd read her _name_, and now it was escaping him.

She saved him from his conundrum and introduced herself. "Pleased to meet you, sir. I'm Natalie Rushman."

His initial impression under control (for the moment, anyway) he sat back down. "Ms. Rushman." He looked down into his half-empty coffee cup before holding it out. "You passed the coffee trolley on the way up. Grab me a refill?"

Without even looking discomfited, she took the cup. "Of course, sir. Cream and sugar?"

"Just sugar," he answered. "Lots."

She left, and returned a moment later with his refill. He took a sip; it was perfect.

Tony was starting to like her already. Still, the way today had been going, he had one more thing to get out of the way before he'd even start the real interview. "Thanks, honey, I appreciate it."

At the 'endearment' Natalie rolled her eyes, but didn't storm out of the room. That was a good sign. Tony decided to give the rest of the interview a shot. "Have a seat, Ms. Rushman."

She did.

"So, this job basically entails doing whatever I need you to do." Tony had done this so many times in the last couple of months that he'd decided to just be blunt. "I really mean 'whatever,' too. And 'whenever.'"

Natalie nodded. "Ms. Potts was very clear about the job requirements, sir. I understand the commitment."

"And you still want to do this. Why?" He tried not to sound incredulous (because this was working for _him _they were talking about, after all) and failed.

"It's an amazing opportunity, sir."

Tony wasn't really sure what was amazing about it...or why anyone would think so. But she seemed very earnest. Idly, he picked up her file and flipped through it.

Pepper's background check had been very thorough. And Natalie's qualifications were impressive. More than impressive. Almost...excessively impressive. "You have quite the skill set," Tony observed. "You speak Latin? Is that ever useful?"

Natalie smiled. "It helped me out when I took the LSAT, sir."

Which was interesting—but Tony was promptly distracted by what he was seeing in her file. Apparently, she'd modeled. In Tokyo. And boy were _those_ photos impressive.

That pretty much sealed it. Anyway, the way Tony figured it, she'd maybe last a week or two, and then he'd be back here again. So he might as well have some fun in the interim and hire the gorgeous model slash lawyer.

Nothing suspicious about those qualifications at all, really.

Closing her file, Tony said, "Well, Ms. Rushman—or can I call you Natalie?—I think you're the person for the job."

Natalie did not look at all surprised to hear this. "Thank you, sir. When do I start?"

Tony was tempted to say 'right now' because he was beginning to run out of clothing and desperately needed someone to take care of his dry cleaning, but instead he answered, "Tomorrow morning, 8:00 AM. Talk to Pepper, she'll give you the rundown." They'd been through this so many times that they actually had a guidebook of sorts to give the new hires. He stood up, offering her his hand. "Any questions?"

"No, sir." She took his hand and stood, smiling. "8:00 tomorrow morning, then."

Tony watched as she made her way out of the conference room.

_Well, today's going better than planned. I hired a smokin' new assistant, and now I'm going to go home and make a new element that'll save my life. Could it get any better?_

As a matter of fact, it could. Because Tony now had time to go harass Pepper.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone for following and favoriting. It's always good to know I'm not just publishing into a dark, empty abyss.**

**Please review. Those also help with the whole abyss thing.**


	4. Taking Care of Business

**Warnings: just language. (I tried to leave the 'warnings' label off and it felt naked...)**

**My beta, irite, is absolutely the best, hands down.**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

Tony was excited to get to work on the new element as soon as he got home, but unfortunately, he didn't get to.

There was a small obstacle in his way.

When Tony got home from his interviews (and from bothering Pepper—hey, he had to tell her about the crap that had been going on for the last day or so, even if he left some of the specifics out. Like the exact identity of his guest, and the 'rage monster' bit—she did this whisper-yell thing that was _scary _and he wanted to avoid that), he was irritated to see that he had company.

_More _company than he'd had when he'd left, that is.

Tony burst into his house a bit before noon, yelling for Bruce, yelling at JARVIS, ready to get cracking, but he stopped short when he passed by the sitting area nearest the front door.

Bruce was in there, sitting stiffly on a couch, back straight, running a hand through his hair nervously as he observed the person sitting opposite him.

He looked incredibly uncomfortable—was actually sweating—and Tony knew why as soon as he got a look at their 'guest.' He didn't know the woman, but her utilitarian uniform screamed 'government.' And that was before Tony noticed the SHIELD decal on it.

Great. Them. _Again_. Just what he wanted to come home to.

Ignoring her completely, Tony addressed Bruce, "So, how was your morning?"

The woman rolled her eyes and stood up, stepping between them, angled so that her back wasn't quite to Bruce, so that she could easily see them both. She stuck her hand out to Tony. "Maria Hill. From SHIELD. I was just having a word with Dr. Banner here."

Tony did not take her hand. "Um, yeah. No. How the hell did you get into my house?"

Hill shrugged. "You haven't changed the codes since yesterday morning. Dr. Banner let me in when I knocked on the door."

Bruce shrugged helplessly at Tony's annoyed glare, and Tony sighed. He made a note to make some serious improvements to his security system (and to give Bruce a lecture on letting government operatives into the house because that was seriously not cool) before he said, "And what are you doing here?"

She cast a long, even look at Bruce. "Just checking up on things. Making sure everything was going all right between you two."

"You mean, making sure that everything was fine and dandy _after _you dropped a rage monster on my doorstep? That _was _you, wasn't it?"

Hill didn't answer him, but Bruce nodded, tense, indicating it had been her. After a moment, Hill spoke. "Dr. Banner has a purpose here, and it is imperative that he fulfill it. We will ensure that—"

"Nuh-uh," Tony interrupted. SHIELD needed to get the hell out of his life, and the hell out of Bruce's. He didn't know what the two of them had been talking about while he was gone, but the way Bruce was sitting screamed 'nervous,' and Tony didn't like it. "You're not going to 'ensure' _anything_. You're going to get out of my house before I have you removed."

Hill narrowed her eyes at him briefly before offering a terse nod and a "Fine." She turned on her heel and strode out of the room, sparing only a short glare behind her. At Bruce.

A moment later, Tony heard the front door open and close. He instructed, "JARVIS, make sure she leaves the premises. And make sure she doesn't touch anything."

"Of course, sir." After a moment, the AI spoke again. "She's gone, Mr. Stark. Shall I change the codes for the security gates?"

"Do that, and send Pep the new ones. Happy, too," Tony answered absently, scolding himself for forgetting about it and thinking briefly of ways to improve his security system. Then he turned to Bruce, who'd slumped back against the cushions on the couch, seeming relieved. "You really need to work on your friends, dude. Because that chick was definitely not the kind of person you want to hang around with."

Bruce chuckled dryly, slowly relaxing. "Yeah. I noticed."

He didn't offer anything else, and Tony decided to skip the lecture. Hill was government, and Bruce was here at their pleasure, more or less. Bruce wasn't going to tell an agent to scram, wouldn't risk their displeasure. Expecting him to at this juncture seemed a little bit optimistic. So instead Tony queried, "What did she want, anyway? All our secrets? 'Cause those assholes robbed me once, I'd like some warning if they're going to do it again..."

Bruce shook his head. "She wasn't interested in that. Well...she wanted to know what we'd been up to, but I think she was making sure you're not plotting world domination or something." He looked momentarily alarmed. "You're not, right?" At Tony's head shake, he continued, "Anyway, she didn't really ask much. Mostly wanted to know we're getting along, as weird as that is. I think she just wants us to stay on task and doesn't want me to, uh, wander off. You know. Off radar."

Tony wandered over to the chair Hill had been occupying and flopped down. "Do you want to?"

"Want to what?"

"Wander off." Honestly, for how supposedly smart this guy was, he was _dense_. "'Cause if you wanna get out of here, we could make it happen. I don't want you to stay here 'cause you're worried that SHIELD is going to, I don't know, go nuclear on your ass if you step out of line." Tony didn't really abide by holding innocent people against their will, and he certainly wasn't going to help SHIELD out if that's what they were trying to do. And he realized that this was more about Bruce than SHIELD, which surprised him. Tony hadn't really done 'friends' in so long that he was pretty sure he'd forgotten how.

"No," Bruce hedged. "I, um. I want to be here. Doing this. It's just..."

"What?"

He shrugged. "Wouldn't really bother me if I never saw her again. Or any of them. I just don't like them knowing I'm here. Where to find me. Knowing that they _can _find me like they did. If they can do it, who else can?" The rest of that thought was clear, if unspoken: _What if Ross finds me_?

It was a good point. Tony had read all about Ross in Bruce's file, and he definitely seemed like someone who Tony didn't want to know intimately. He asked, "But don't you think they're keeping what's-his-face off your trail?" Tony asked, refusing to admit he knew that douche's name. If SHIELD could find Bruce in the middle of a Canadian forest and drop him off in Malibu with no problems, they could probably manage one crazy general who couldn't go postal on them the way that Bruce could if they got on his bad side.

"Ross? I'm not really sure. I mean, they told me to be careful, to keep a low profile, so who knows?"

Tony nodded slowly. Maybe SHIELD could do it, maybe they couldn't. Well, he could deal with that. He'd have to add some extra stuff into his new security system, that was all.

Or...he could figure out what Ross was up to, see if he had any idea that Bruce was currently on vacation in Malibu.

Even better...he could have someone else do it.

Tony hadn't talked to Rhodey much since this whole thing had gone down—they'd both been busy, and Tony had been sulking (though he'd never admit it) but the way he figured, Rhodey owed him a favor. He couldn't immediately come up with 'why' (if he thought about it, he'd realize the scale was tilted much further towards him owing Rhodey) but that didn't matter. Rhodey knew the ins and outs of the military, could probably get the info Tony wanted without committing a felony.

"JARVIS," Tony addressed his AI, "Let Rhodey know I want to have a little chat at his earliest convenience."

"Of course, sir. And by 'his earliest convenience,' do you mean 'right now'?"

"No, Mr. Sassypants, I don't. I mean at his actual convenience." Tony had plans for right now, after all. He stood, gesturing for Bruce to follow.

"Who's Rhodey?" Bruce asked, following Tony as he made his way down to his workspace.

"My BFF," Tony answered brightly, glancing over his shoulder. "He's military, but he's cool, don't worry."

Bruce looked worried.

"Seriously, don't worry," Tony reiterated. "Or, if you're going to worry about something, worry about the fact that we're going to synthesize a new element in a very, very small space..."

"Oh, yeah. How could I forget?" Bruce replied, voice strained.

* * *

As it turned out, Bruce had actually gotten quite a lot of work done on their problem while Tony had been at headquarters.

"I'm not really big into sleeping," Bruce admitted as he pulled up his plans, "And I had to do _something _this morning."

"Could've watched the History Channel or something, doc." Tony looked over the documents. "Damn, you did these calculations by hand?"

Bruce shrugged. "More or less. JARVIS helped. I wasn't sure what kind of setup you had, but this seemed most likely."

'Most likely,' yeah. Bruce had actually nailed the exact design Tony had been planning on using. "Well, this is awesome. I was just going to eyeball everything, figured I might burn through a wall with a laser or something, but geez. That's not going to be an issue. These are exact." He whistled, impressed.

Looking scandalized about burning through _anything _with a laser, Bruce sat down with a huff. "I hope it's not going to be an issue." He paused. "Do you _often _burn through your walls with lasers?"

Distracted by the plans in front of him, Tony answered, "What? No. Maybe. Ask Pep." Geez, this guy was something else. Dense, maybe, but undoubtedly brilliant. He'd figured out about the only way to do what they needed to do, had calculated the exact angles and temperatures and _everything_. "How'd you do this?"

Bruce shrugged. "Doctorate in nuclear physics has to come in handy somewhere, right? Anyway, JARVIS helped...told me what sort of stuff you had 'lying around,' so I had some idea what we would be working with."

Tony didn't understand the weird look Bruce was shooting him—didn't _everyone _have the supplies to forge a new element just sitting in storage?—so he ignored it and nodded. "Right. So. Looks like you've got this figured out. When can we get started?"

"Well...I mean, it's still risky. There's about a million things that could go wrong—"

"Yeah, but _aside _from that?" Tony was starting to resent the cramp in his style.

Bruce made a distinctly sour face, like he was trying very hard not to say something, and then answered, "We can get started now, I guess. Start gathering materials."

"Great!" Tony exclaimed. _Now _it was finally time to move into hardware mode. He went for the sledgehammer again.

"Woah." Bruce held up a hand. "What's the hammer for?"

Tony looked at the plans Bruce had drawn up, then at the physicist. "You do realize that the diameter of this thing means we need to take out a wall, right?"

Bruce pushed his glasses up his nose and stood up, leaning in over the plans. He looked at them for a moment before admitting, embarrassed, "Uh, that was an oversight. I'm sorry—"

"Nah, not a problem," Tony said, shouldering the sledgehammer. "Kinda figured I was gonna have to do it. I can get it fixed after. No problem. Really."

And with that, he walked over the wall and smashed a hole in it.

It took Bruce a little while to get the hang of 'hardware mode.' Though he'd designed the experiment, it was kind of obvious to Tony that he didn't spend a lot of time building the equipment he used. He was a little awkward, and a little hesitant, and he _really _didn't like using the sledgehammer on the walls.

Which was too bad—Tony thought that was the best part.

Still, once he got his hands dirty, Bruce was pretty useful. They worked until early evening and stopped for dinner—Chinese, this time, and boy Tony was tired of seeing to his own food—and then they picked up again immediately after they were done eating. By midnight, they'd gotten most of the machinery together. There was still a lot that needed to be done—electrical connections, and computations, and Tony needed to design a new arc reactor to house the new element—but that was going to have to wait until after they'd gotten some rest. At least, if the way Bruce had dozed off while laying down to screw together two pieces of tubing indicated anything.

An impressive feat, considering the volume of the music.

"Hey!" Tony yelled across the room, startling Bruce awake. He promptly sat up and whacked his head on the tubes above him. Tony winced in sympathy.

"Damn it!" Bruce muttered, rubbing his head. Then, testily, "Maybe don't surprise me next time?"

It occurred to Tony, then, that maybe that hadn't been the wisest course of action. The whole 'rage monster' thing was really easy to forget when they were working. Or, really, all the time. In fact, Tony probably wouldn't think about it at all, if Bruce (_and SHIELD_, Tony thought bitterly, remembering their little visit from Agent Hill) didn't keep reminding him.

People were just so _obsessed _with it. But it didn't seem like a problem to Tony.

Still, Tony apologized, "Yeah, sure, Sleeping Beauty. Sorry. But uh, seems like you'd have more luck sleeping in a bed and not, you know, on the floor." Then, surprised, he yawned.

Eh, it had been an early morning. Maybe it wasn't that strange.

Bruce scooted out from under the tubing. He agreed quickly, "You're right. Um. Pick this up in the morning?"

Tony nodded, then said, "JARVIS, shut everything down for the night."

"Of course, sir."

Heading towards the stairs, Tony beckoned for Bruce. The two of them made their way upstairs. As they walked, Tony told Bruce, "Oh, I forgot to mention...I hired a new assistant today. Natalie Rushman. She's starting tomorrow morning, so don't be worried if you see a drop-dead gorgeous redhead wandering through the house, 'kay? She's authorized. Oh, is she authorized. She's _extra _authorized."

Behind him, Bruce chuckled. "Uh, noted. Redhead. Gorgeous. I don't suppose she had any other qualifications?"

Tony resented the implication. "She speaks Latin. And uh, went to law school." That was about all he remembered from her resume. And the photos from Tokyo, of course, but Bruce didn't need to know about those. Or her ability to make good coffee.

He was judgmental enough already.

The two of them parted ways for the night once they'd made it upstairs, going to opposite ends of the hallway.

Tony barely managed to kick his shoes off before he collapsed into bed.

It occurred to him, before he fell asleep, that Rhodey was taking this 'earliest convenience' thing awfully literally.

* * *

His phone rang at 5:46 AM.

Well, his phone didn't _ring_. JARVIS informed him that he had an incoming call at 5:46 AM. Also that it was Rhodey.

At 5:46 AM, Tony didn't give a shit if it was the president of the goddamn country calling to offer his suits back, he wasn't answering it.

He let the call go to voicemail.

At 5:48, though, he remember _why _Rhodey was calling. That is, because he'd called first. And then Tony remembered _why _he'd called. He had a maybe-fugitive on his hands who was worried his huge and military-hounded past might follow him here. So, with a groan, Tony mumbled, "J, call Rhodey. I guess."

Rhodey answered on the first ring, sounding way, way too cheerful for this time of day. "Morning, Tony!"

"Ugh." He flopped around on the bed, his vague plans of moving down to the kitchen for coffee abandoned. He just couldn't do it.

"Same to you. Hey. I got this really weird phone call yesterday. Someone claiming to be Tony Stark's AI, nailed the accent and everything, left me a message asking me to call when it was convenient for me. For _me_. Right? So I knew it was a fake. I thought you'd think it was funny."

At 5:51 AM, Tony did not think much was funny. Especially not being insulted by his supposed 'best friend.' Who, at this precise moment, he actually hated. With a deep, fiery passion. "It was me, well, it was actually JARVIS, Jesus, don't kick a man while he's down. Why are you calling so damn early?"

"It was convenient."

Tony could practically hear the smirk, and he didn't answer. After a moment, Rhodey asked, "So what's up? Who'd you piss off? What do you need me to do?"

"I didn't piss anyone off," Tony defended himself. He couldn't deal with both being awake and being insulted right now, and since it seemed like Rhodey was never going to stop with the insults, Tony cut to the chase. "Look. You would not believe the week I'm having. I need you to get me some information."

With that as an introduction, he launched into a recap of his last couple of days, ending with, "I just want to know if SHIELD is leading some crazy-ass general to my damn doorstep or not."

Rhodey had listened patiently through the explanation, well-versed in keeping up with Tony (and cleaning up his messes). Now he asked, "And what do you want me to do, exactly?"

"Check up on Ross. See what he's up to. You're both military, I'm sure you know someone who knows someone who knows someone who knows what that whackjob is working on."

There was a long pause, and then Rhodey sighed. "You just _had _to make friends with one of the most dangerous men in the country, didn't you. Can't you get this info yourself, leave me out of whatever mess you're cooking up over there?"

"Well, duh. I could hack the military and break into some secret government records and—"

"Yeah, I'll see what I can do," Rhodey interrupted, exasperated (as he so often was when dealing with Tony). That made Tony smile—he was getting what revenge he could for the pre-dawn wake-up call. "Do you need anything else? How's Pepper?"

"Pep's fine," Tony answered. "Running the company better than I ever did. And I hired a new assistant."

"Well, good luck with that. I have to get to work, but I'll let you know if I find anything. When it's convenient. For me."

Tony sighed, but just agreed, "Fine. Talk to you later, sunshine."

He ended the phone call before Rhodey could attempt to come up with some witty comeback. Then he laid quietly, trying to decide what to do with his life. It was just after 6:00 AM, which made it _way _too early to be up, and he'd only gotten less than six hours of sleep and he was exhausted from having the weirdest week of his life, and...

He dozed off.

When he woke up again, it was 9:30. Feeling decidedly more human than he had during his conversation with Rhodey (which he wasn't even sure was real, for a moment—he had to check his 'recent calls' list to make sure it hadn't been a dream), he pulled himself out of bed (he'd been laying in it sideways) and headed for the shower.

Now _much _more human, he went downstairs.

And stopped in the middle of the staircase when he smelled coffee brewing.

Bruce didn't drink coffee.

Oh, God bless his new assistant.

Tony wandered down into the kitchen, where he found a fresh pot of coffee going. And Natalie, perched on a stool at the counter and typing furiously into her cell phone. When Tony entered, she looked up.

"Good morning, Mr. Stark. I sent out your dry cleaning this morning, as per Ms. Potts's instructions, and I have a shopping list started, but if you want anything in particular, Ms. Potts said you would add it yourself. I picked up breakfast; it's in the fridge. Your 'friend' took his down to the lab."

This was overwhelming first thing in the morning, and pre-coffee to boot, so Tony nodded slowly before pouring himself a cup. He took a sip and, head clearer, said, "Uh, wow. Yeah." More intelligently, he asked, "You said something about a shopping list?"

She pushed a pad of paper towards him and he scanned it before getting up and walking to the fridge to see what was for breakfast. He couldn't deal with shopping lists before coffee, and food was always welcome.

As it turned out, she'd picked up some sort of fruity-yogurt-granola thing from this place Pepper liked, and so he grabbed that out of the fridge (along with his chlorophyll smoothie) before walking back to the island. He retrieved a spoon from a drawer on the walk by and sat down opposite Natalie, taking a bite of the concoction.

It was actually pretty good, in a 'I'm-going-to-need-to-eat-again-in-fifteen-minutes ' kind of way, so he took another spoonful before gulping down some chlorophyll and washing _that _down with coffee.

Then he reconsidered the shopping list.

As he did all of this, Natalie stayed perched on her chair, tapping away in silence, exuding not one iota of nervousness or a single hint that she was feeling ill at ease. In fact, her cool collectedness (along with how, uh, 'put together' she looked this morning) was putting _him _ill at ease, and as a result, Tony started talking.

"So you found the place okay. Managed to get in here and everything." Duh. That was obvious.

Natalie didn't bat an eye. "Yes, Mr. Stark. Ms. Potts had your driver pick me up this morning. She said he'd be available to show me around for a few days, until I was more comfortable with the area myself."

Ah. Good to know. Really, it was fine that his driver had been commandeered because 1. Tony was becoming kind of a shut in and 2. He preferred to drive himself everywhere when he did go out. "And, uh, do you have any questions for me, or...?" God, what the hell, he was _never _this awkward. He blamed her. _No one _should look that good before noon.

"No, sir." She looked over at the shopping list, where he'd added a few items. "If you're done, I can get started on this."

"Huh? Oh, sure. Yeah." Tony held the list out.

She stood, taking the list from his outstretched hand, and Tony watched as she retreated towards the door.

It was a good view, but he managed to refrain from saying a _single thing_ about it. He didn't know why, but for some reason, something about her made him think it was probably better to just keep his opinions to himself.

Shrugging, Tony finished his breakfast and grabbed another cup of coffee before he headed downstairs.

Bruce was fiddling with a section of tubing, checking to make sure it was level, and Tony greeted him, "Morning. Heard you met my new assistant."

Bruce peered over his glasses. "Yeah. _That's _your new assistant?" He sounded incredulous.

"Hey, I said 'smoking hot,' didn't I?" Honestly, some people didn't listen.

"No. You said 'drop dead gorgeous'," Bruce corrected, then shrugged, gesturing at the section of machinery in front of him. "So this is all ready to go. The electricity stuff still needs to be done. But there's a couple of things I'd like to double check..."

He sounded hesitant, and it took Tony a moment to get why. Then he remembered his snippiness the previous day regarding Bruce's safety concerns. He'd kind of dismissed them like a dick, actually. Sure, he was getting tired of Bruce's endless insecurity about moving forward. But it wasn't unfounded insecurity. For one, Bruce's history with lab safety wasn't the best. Second, the price for a lapse in safety here was pretty high. He could die, and Bruce could do...whatever it was that he did. Pretty legitimate concerns, actually, and he'd _known _that working with another person was going to mean sacrifice. He could get over himself for five minutes.

Maybe.

So he answered with, "Well, why don't you do that? I can keep myself entertained for a few hours, then get started hooking things up when you're ready?"

"Sure," Bruce agreed, sounding relieved and settling down to go over what Tony assumed were his calculations.

For his part, Tony went over to his workstation and pulled up his new arc reactor designs. If he wanted them to work with this new element, he was going to have to make a couple of adjustments to make sure he got maximum output without frying anything. Like himself. Or, eventually, his suit.

Because really, it was only a matter of time. The 'cease and desist' order the government had put on him was something he'd always intended to ignore entirely. He didn't think it was especially fair that they should possess tech that he didn't, especially when the tech was his to begin with. If they didn't like it, well...he'd deal with that when he had to.

The pair worked for the better part of four hours, when it occurred to Tony that he was (as he'd predicted he would be during breakfast) starving.

"Natalie went shopping," he said, turning down his music. "She should be back by now. I'm gonna go grab some lunch." The idea of actually having food (like, real food, not the kind he had to cook or something godawful like that) in the house again was kind of weird. The idea of sneaking upstairs to check on his assistant was less so. He offered magnanimously, "Want something?"

Bruce looked up from his calculations. "Thought you said you don't cook."

"I don't," Tony scoffed. "But she should have picked up _real _food. Like, chips."

Bruce sighed, like Tony's definition of 'real food' caused him physical pain. "Uh, actually, I think I'll just go grab something myself."

"Suit yourself, dude."

They went upstairs, chatting about their upcoming synthesis, more at ease with each other than they had been in the entirety of their acquaintance.

When they were heading towards the kitchen, they heard a 'thump' from the general area of the living room, followed by a muffled yell of pain.

Glancing quickly at each other, they hurried towards the noise.

The sight that greeted them in the hallway outside the living room was...strange.

Tony recovered from his surprise faster than Bruce and said, impressed, "Uh, didn't realize aikido was part of your skill set, Natalie."

Happy seemed decidedly less impressed with the situation, pinned as he was to the floor.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! And to everyone who's followed/favorited.**

**This is my first time ever writing Rhodey, so be gentle with me.**

**Reviews are my lifeblood. **


	5. Ty's Thai

**Warnings: language.**

**Thanks to my beta, irite, for keeping me on track in terms of characterization.**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

Natalie quickly disengaged from the thigh hold she had on Happy and stood, brushing herself off and straightening her skirt.

Happy followed her up a moment later, looking disgruntled.

Tony gave his new assistant an appraising look. He'd been pretty surprised to see that she'd pinned Happy. He boxed with Happy fairly regularly, knew the guy could hold his own. So Natalie must've been pretty good to get him down like that. And apparently pretty easily, too. He gave a low whistle. "Geez, Natalie, assault on the first day of work, that's impressive."

Stiffly, she apologized, "I'm sorry, Mr. Stark." She turned a slightly contemptuous gaze on Happy and then faced Tony again. She said, "I was startled, that's all. It won't happen again."

Now Tony looked at Happy, head cocked slightly to one side. "Startled by what, exactly?"

Happy groused, "I put my hand on her shoulder. She'd left her purse in the car and I was hurrying to catch up with her and return it, and she flipped out when I touched her."

"More like she flipped _you_," Tony pointed out, smirking. He couldn't resist saying it.

Behind him, Bruce huffed a small laugh at the terrible pun.

Natalie rolled her eyes. "I think your hand was significantly lower than my shoulder, Mr. Hogan. _Significantly._"

Happy looked down. "Fine. Mid-back. Maybe."

Natalie glowered at him.

Tony took a step back, glancing between the two of them. Yeah, he didn't want to get involved here. So he said, "We were just going to grab lunch. Can I trust you two to get along? Um...ground rules. Natalie, don't assault Happy. Happy, don't touch Natalie. There. Now be good, kids."

Natalie and Happy gave nearly identical put upon sighs, but both nodded.

Straightening her skirt again (even though, to Tony, it looked perfect...and he'd know), Natalie stated, "Ms. Potts wanted me to stop by her office this afternoon so we could start getting your calendar under control again, as well as work out a few legal obligations. Do you need anything else today, Mr. Stark?"

Tony considered it. He was planning on spending the rest of the day synthesizing a new element, so maybe it'd be for the best if she wasn't around for that. "No, I'm good. We're good, I mean," he corrected, glancing at Bruce. But then he had a thought. "Dinner would be good, though, if you could...?"

For the tiniest fraction of a second, Natalie looked incredulous, like she couldn't believe Tony couldn't manage a meal on his own. It was an expression Tony had seen on Pepper's face more than once, so it wasn't like it really bothered him, and she covered it quickly with an "Of course, Mr. Stark. Let me know if you have any preferences. You have my number. Otherwise I'll be back around 7:00."

Tony agreed, "Sure thing." Then he looked at Happy. If he was clearing people out of here so he and Bruce could do science, he'd better be thorough. "Why don't you take the rest of the day off? Unless you need to take Natalie home tonight?"

"I can get a cab," Natalie supplied quickly.

Tony nodded towards Happy. "Then take a vacation day, buddy."

Well used to Tony's eccentricity by now, Happy just agreed with a shrug.

"Great. Now, food." With that, Tony headed back towards the kitchen, Bruce trailing behind him, leaving his two employees in the hall.

As they walked away, Tony heard Happy mutter, "Who's that other guy, anyway?"

Hmm. Maybe he needed to get better at doing introductions. But then...maybe it was better if they didn't know.

In the kitchen, Tony quickly located the chips and set to snacking, crunching loudly as he circled the kitchen, surveying the new food options. Bruce, on the other hand, poked around the fridge for a moment, assembling some sort of awesome looking sandwich. With actual toppings. Like, more than just meat and bread.

Tony was impressed by this (since the sandwiches he constructed really did consist of just meat and bread) and so he observed, "That looks good."

For a moment, Tony thought Bruce was going to offer it to him (which was what he'd been aiming for, honestly), but then Bruce lifted the sandwich to his mouth and took a large bite. He chewed and swallowed before answering, "Yeah. It _is_ good."

_Asshole_.

Whatever. He had his chips. And if he was chewing them obnoxiously loudly, well, that wasn't his problem, was it?

After a couple of minutes, Tony had to grab some water, and he charitably tossed a bottle to Bruce, too, who caught it awkwardly in one hand. Then Tony hopped up so that he was sitting on the counter and struck up a conversation. "So, did you get through everything you wanted to do? Ready to move on to bigger and better things?"

Bruce took a sip from his bottle of water. "I, uh. Yeah. I guess. I mean. It's never going to be 100%, right?"

"Nope." Fact of science. Nothing was ever 100%. Not 100% safe, or 100% certain to work. Tony wasn't sure which one Bruce was asking about, but he was usually content if he could get to 51% on either category. He _did _understand where Bruce was coming from (a lab accident like the one he'd had wasn't something you could just brush off) but caution wasn't really in Tony's nature, and he was ready to get this done.

"Then yeah, I'm ready to go." Bruce shoved the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth.

"Great!" Tony exclaimed, bouncing down from where he'd just settled down. "Natalie's over at headquarters, and Happy's out of the way, so if we blow anything up, it'll only kill us!"

"To be fair," Bruce pointed out, "It'll probably just kill you." He looked down before adding, "I'll just go green and smash some stuff."

Tony rolled his eyes. Couldn't this guy understand a joke when he heard one? He was just absolutely fixated on the whole rage monster thing. It really made him into a downer. Shrugging, Tony replied, "Whatever, big guy. Come on. The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can move on to...other stuff." Like new suit designs. "And the sooner you can get out of here," Tony added. Then he paused. Hill hadn't said anything about Bruce leaving when they were done. But then, Hill hadn't said much. "Right? You get to leave when we're done playing Science Buddies?"

"I...don't know," Bruce admitted. "SHIELD wasn't especially specific on that point. I don't know why I couldn't...unless they have something else planned for me. Someone else's doorstep to deposit me on."

"Well," Tony said, heading back downstairs and beckoning for Bruce to follow, "Do you _want _to leave?" He hadn't gotten the impression that Bruce had anywhere he really needed to be. And he didn't like the way SHIELD was yanking the poor guy's chain. Tony knew all about that himself. It was bullshit how they were just playing him, pushing him into a corner like they did. Besides, he had Rhodey working on figuring out what Ross was up to, and he didn't want Bruce to leave before he had his information. The way Tony saw it, he could protect Bruce from SHIELD, from Ross, from being fucked over by the government like he'd been.

It seemed like a fairly worthy cause.

Not to mention liable to piss off all of the above mentioned parties.

"Uh, well," Bruce hedged. "I mean, not really. Not if it means..."

"Not if it means you're going to be SHIELD's little bitch for the rest of time?" Because wasn't that what it boiled down to? Making Bruce do whatever they wanted from him, because they could? Them knowing where he was...that was a huge threat to his safety. A threat Bruce couldn't ignore.

Bruce snorted. "Yeah, something like that."

Tony nodded, entering his code to get into his workshop. "Well, you could _not _leave." Then he stopped himself, surprised. Sure, he was impulsive and generally didn't think before acting, but he also liked his privacy. His space. Just inviting another person to stay at his house indefinitely? A person he barely knew? That was completely uncharacteristic.

But he _liked_ Bruce well enough. In the time they'd been working together, he'd proven he was whip smart, and it was actually kinda nice having someone around who could keep up with him.

Plus Tony _really _wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to stick it to SHIELD if he could. And even though he hadn't met General Ross, well, Tony thought it would be satisfying to stick it to him, too.

He pushed open his workshop door. Bruce stood frozen behind him for a moment before he apparently collected himself and moved into the lab. "I...guess I could. Are you...inviting me to stay here?"

"Duh," Tony called out from his main workstation, as if he hadn't just been wondering the same thing himself. "Look, it can't hurt, right? I mean, unless you hate it here." Tony supposed that was a possibility.

Bruce looked around, at all the equipment and machinery around him. "Oh, yeah. Living in this scientist's-dream-come-true would really be a huge setback for me." He gave a half-smile, before adding, "I mean, I used to live in a slum in Brazil, but this would just be terrible. Unconscionable."

Hmm. If Bruce was going to stick around, Tony was really going to have to get used to his bone-dry sense of humor. "So that's a 'yes, I'll stick around, Tony?'"

"Yes, I'll stick around, Tony," Bruce repeated dutifully. "Assuming we don't blow up your house today."

Tony shrugged, tapping a few commands on a keyboard. "I have other houses. Hell, I'm building a skyscraper in New York, or so Pepper tells me. If we blow this place up, we can just head to the East Coast."

Bruce cringed. "I'd uh, like to avoid New York. If I could."

"Why's that...oh yeah." Tony remembered why. Harlem. "Fair enough." He straightened up. "We're all ready to go on the software end of things. How's hardware?"

"Should be good," Bruce said. "Everything's lined up. I checked all the connections. The base material's ready to go."

The base material was really the crux of this whole operation. It was expensive as hell, a compound that existed only in minute quantities. There were a few other compounds that might have worked, but this one was the most promising, and seemed like it was the most stable. Tony was hoping he was right with that assumption, at least.

Still, he clapped his hands together, ready to get going. This was the smoothest any project of his had gone since, well...ever. Usually, he just kind of half-assed things. Like his first flight in the Mark II suit. But this...this had been meticulous. Neat and organized from start to finish. And aside from the holes in the walls, he hadn't destroyed anything to do it.

Well, yet.

"So I just need to run the program, then?" Tony asked.

"Yup," Bruce agreed, moving a little bit further away from the center of the room, where the source material was sitting, ready. "And then maybe get back."

"Good plan." He looked up at his screen, then over at Bruce. "I'm just going to start...?"

Bruce nodded and moved towards the opposite side of the room, grabbing a pair of protective goggles. After typing in the 'start' command, Tony followed him with his own eyewear (he had an idea about how bright this was going to be, and he kind of valued his eyesight).

At first, nothing happened, and Tony immediately assumed that all of their hard work had been for nothing. That he'd missed a line of code, or that they hadn't calibrated the machinery correctly. But then, very efficiently, two beams of light shot out at each other and collided, forming a third beam that blasted into the chunk of metal they were altering.

The light show was over in five seconds.

And when it was done, there had been no explosions, no mis-aimed lasers, no destruction at all. Just a sample of a new element.

Well, that had been extremely and unprecedentedly easy.

It was almost...unrealistic.

Still, Tony wasn't going to question their good fortune. He ripped off his protective goggles and bounded across the room to examine the new product.

JARVIS spoke up, "Congratulations, sirs. Synthesis was successful. The new element appears to be stable."

"Thanks, J," Tony answered, holding the sample up to the light. Bruce came up behind him, and Tony held it out. "Want to hold it?"

Bruce took it. He turned it over in his hand a few times before giving it back to Tony wordlessly.

Tony had enough words for the both of them. "This is fucking awesome. I don't need to keep drinking that green shit! I won't die! And hey, I can get a patent, too." He turned to Bruce. "Sorry. We. We can get a patent."

At that, Bruce chuckled. "Uh, I don't think so."

"What do you mean?" Sure, patents had kind of lost their meaning, in a world where the government could just seize your property because they felt like it, but it was still worth a shot, wasn't it?

Bruce shrugged. "Can't really put my name on a patent, can you?"

Oh yeah. That. Tony set the new element down on its stand. "I didn't think of that." Then, remembering what he'd read in Bruce's file, he suggested, "I could put you down as Robert Banner. Or Bob. Bob Banner! That's perfect."

Bruce did not look amused, at first, but then he relented with a sigh and small smile. "I'm sure we can work something out."

"Damn right we can," Tony agreed. He didn't just take other people's work and ideas and pretend they were his own. That's what that asshole Hammer did, and well, that guy was a douche. Tony didn't want to be a douche.

After a moment of silence, Tony said, "I have a new design for the arc reactor...it's all set up to machine. That'll take a couple of hours. Then I can try it out." He glanced over at Bruce. "I can get started on that, if you want to start disassembling everything. I'll help out in a bit."

Bruce looked confused. "You mean, you don't want a particle reactor taking up two rooms of your house?"

Tony punched Bruce's arm. "Don't be a smart ass, Banner. Bob."

Bruce narrowed his eyes and rubbed his shoulder. "Don't hit me. And don't call me Bob."

Geez, touchy. "Whatever. JARVIS will help you figure out where to put stuff. Now go, my little lab peon."

As Bruce walked away, Tony heard him grumble, "Lab peon? I'm the one with a PhD."

Tony got the new arc reactor machining, and then he went to help Bruce. They were able to salvage a fair amount of the components of the accelerator, but it was slow going. Just before 7:00, Tony had a pair of revelations. First, he was hungry. Again. And second, he'd never gotten back to Natalie with his dinner preferences.

Oh well. She was smart. Scarily competent, from what he'd seen so far. And she'd spent the day with Pepper. Pepper was _also _scarily competent, and between the two of them, Tony didn't really think he'd have to worry.

Still, he thought it would be for the best if they headed upstairs. Besides, there were still a few hours until the new reactor would be done, and as much of a workaholic as Tony was, he thought it might be nice to do something that _wasn't _work-related right now.

Bruce was attempting to disconnect two pieces of piping when Tony called out, "Hey, wanna go see what's up for dinner?"

Bruce set down his screwdriver with a sigh and stood up, rubbing his back. "Sure. Does, uh, Natalie take care of that sort of thing?"

Tony nodded exuberantly. "Pepper decided that I wasn't competent enough to feed myself when she'd been working for me for oh...a month. Got tired of watching me eat scrambled eggs and Eggo waffles, I guess. So now I think it's in the job description. Feed the boss." He shrugged. "I could hire a chef or something but...that seems weird."

"And having your PA pick up your food three times a day doesn't."

"Well," Tony said, "To be fair...I used to eat out a lot. I mean, I've kinda become a recluse in the last couple of months."

Bruce nodded. "Can't really say I blame you."

"Yeah, well." Tony knew it wasn't really the mature or rational response to what had happened, but it was what he'd wanted to do. And he was pretty much renowned for doing what he wanted.

"Maybe I'll start going out on the town again, who knows." He stretched. "Come on."

When they got upstairs, Natalie was sitting in the kitchen, looking almost exactly like she had that morning. Instead of her phone, though, she was tapping away on a tablet. She looked up when they entered. "Mr. Stark." She looked between Tony and Bruce for a moment, before pointedly adding, "Mr. Stark's friend."

"Bruce," Tony corrected. Then, pulling from the file SHIELD had sent along, Tony added, "Uh...Bruce Green. And he's a doctor, not a mister. For reference."

Bruce looked amused at the name Tony had chosen, but managed to avoid doing more than curling up one corner of his mouth. He held out his hand to Natalie. "It's nice to meet you, Ms. Rushman."

She reached a gracious hand out and took his. "Natalie is fine, Dr. Green."

"Bruce, please," Bruce corrected, placing his hands in his pockets.

Natalie nodded. "Bruce." Then she looked at Tony. "I ordered dinner, Mr. Stark. From one of the restaurants Ms. Potts told me you prefer. I'm just waiting to buzz the delivery person in, and then I'll be heading home for the night."

"Sounds good," Tony said. "Bruce and I'll be in the living room. The one with all the cool shit in it." To Bruce, he said, "Come on. You thought the lab was cool, you haven't seen anything yet. Wait 'til you see my home theatre."

A few minutes later, after Tony had popped a movie in (something action-y, of course) and the two of them had settled down on their own overstuffed couches, Tony heard the sound of the buzzer for the front gates. Natalie apparently let whoever it was in, because a moment later the doorbell rang.

Then rang again.

"Huh," Tony mused. "That's probably dinner. Maybe Natalie's in the bathroom or something. I'll go get the door, be right back."

Bruce just nodded, apparently engrossed in the movie (which Tony had seen no less than four times), so Tony got up and headed for the front door.

He of course checked the feed from the security camera just inside the door before actually opening it. It wouldn't do to let Hill or something in again.

But no, it was definitely a delivery guy. Although...one of the stranger delivery guys Tony had seen. For one, he seemed a little bit...old for the gig. He wasn't like 80 or something, but he was definitely in his late thirties, at least. And he looked...military. His hair, for one, was more rigid than one usually saw on delivery drivers. And he was _definitely_ in better shape than most delivery drivers. This guy looked like he kicked ass on a regular basis.

As Tony was looking at the screen, Natalie came up behind him. "Sorry, Mr. Stark. I had something to take care of." Then she looked up at the screen, too, and her eyes narrowed. Just a little bit, and for less than a second, but Tony knew he had not imagined her reaction.

Interesting.

"I can take care of this, Mr. Stark. I'll bring your food in to you."

"Sure, Natalie," Tony agreed amicably. He retreated, but halted just on the other side of the doorway where Natalie couldn't see him. That look on her face had piqued his curiosity, and he wanted to hear their interaction.

He heard her open the door. Then, she said something, but it was so soft that Tony couldn't make it out.

The delivery guy answered in a whisper, "Look, Nat, we just wanted to make sure—"

Natalie said something else, something indecipherable.

"We just needed—" He cut himself off abruptly, and then said loudly, "That'll be $29.79."

At that, Tony dashed as quietly as he could back to the living room. A few minutes later, Natalie came in with the food, drinks, and silverware.

"Can I get you two anything else?" she asked politely.

Tony looked up at her from his couch, trying very hard to not seem suspicious. Even though he was. How did she know the delivery guy from Ty's Thai? Why was she so defensive about it? Whoever that guy was, she hadn't seemed too glad to see him.

It was weird.

But he'd have to puzzle it out later. When she wasn't looking at him, expecting an answer. For now, he just answered, "No, we're good."

Bruce, the paragon of politeness, added, "No, thank you. Have a good night, Natalie."

"You too, Bruce. Mr. Stark." With that, she was gone, high heels clacking against the floor.

The two of them tuned in to the movie, eating and watching in relative silence. The first movie turned into two movies ('You can't watch the first one and then not the sequel,' Tony argued, daring Bruce to disagree with him) and about forty minutes into that, JARVIS announced, "Sir, your new arc reactor is finished."

That was good. There was still some stuff he had to do (wiring and the like) but that would only take a couple of hours. And it could wait until after the movie.

Or tomorrow, depending.

At the end of the second movie, Tony decided that yeah, he could put off finishing up the new reactor until the morning. It was still reasonably early, but Bruce kept a normal-ish schedule, and somehow it seemed rude to sleep until 11:00 or 12:00 when your house guest was up by 8:00.

Of course...Bruce had agreed to stick around for a while, so he wasn't so much a house _guest _as a...roommate?

That was a good point.

Still, Tony thought that trying to keep normal hours might be good for him.

And besides, if he went to bed now, and Rhodey called him at 6:00 AM...he'd be prepared.

So after exchanging a couple of pleasantries and discussing what was on the agenda for tomorrow, the pair headed upstairs to bed.

All in all, Tony thought it had been a successful day.

* * *

Like he so often did, Bruce awoke violently, with a start.

It wasn't nightmares. At least, not usually. No, it was just his now-ingrained response to rush into consciousness as fast as possible.

It was important—with what he was, with who was after him—to try to be vigilant.

At least, it had been for the last several years. Now...at least for the last couple of days...it was maladaptive. Well, it _would _be maladaptive, if he decided to stay here. He'd said he would but...he wasn't sure. Staying in one place for too long was dangerous. Especially if _they _already knew where you were.

But then...if there was anyone who could protect him from SHIELD, or Ross, or anyone who might come looking for him...it was Tony Stark.

Bruce was still pretty much bewildered by how he'd gotten here, even as he tried to maintain a cool, collected facade. Having a cool, collected facade was his signature move, after all. Couldn't risk getting too worked up about anything, including the fact that government agents had plucked you out of hiding in the middle of the forest in Canada and had dropped you in Malibu to play with Tony Stark.

Which was more or less what the last several days had amounted to. Bruce had no doubt that Tony could have figured out the solution to his problem without Bruce. Bruce had just been a catalyst, moving things along at a quicker rate than they would have happened on their own. Which was fine. Bruce was okay with being a catalyst. But the fact remained that Tony was a smart guy, and he didn't really need a resident nuclear physicist.

And yet...he'd offered Bruce a place to stay.

Bruce wasn't going to pretend he understood the billionaire or his reasoning. But he seemed genuine, seemed to enjoy Bruce's company, seemed completely unfazed by the whole rage monster thing.

Which maybe meant that Tony wasn't as smart as he seemed.

Still. Bruce did not meet many genuine people. And he did not know many people who knew what he was and still accepted him. In fact, it was a very, very short list. So turning Tony down felt...stupidly self-defeating.

Of course, being stupidly self-defeating was _another _one of Bruce's signature moves.

He sighed, rolling out of bed. Today, Tony was going to finish the new arc reactor and effectively end their working relationship. Which meant that very soon he'd have to decide what he wanted to do. And prepare for the consequences. If he opted to stay, what would that mean? Would SHIELD let him? He didn't see why not—they'd know where he was, and that seemed like something that'd want to know. Not that they apparently had much trouble on that front, though.

But them knowing where he was meant that _other people _could know where he was, and he wasn't letting Ross do to him here what he'd done at Culver. Set him up for an ambush. In the middle of campus, with all those people around. That had been a stupid move on Ross's part, but Bruce knew he wasn't entirely without blame, either.

Bruce headed for the opulent bathroom and turned on the water in the excessively large bathtub. Really, he knew he'd have to be some kind of moron to pass all of this up. His living situation since the accident had been...non-ideal. He hadn't had the chance to do any real research in years, being constantly on the run. If he stayed, he could do research. Maybe look for a cure.

Which would, hopefully, go better than it had last time.

Bruce showered quickly (still unused to the luxury of nearly-endless hot water) before dressing. He glanced in the mirror long enough to note that he desperately needed to do something about his hair (and, if he was honest with himself, his wardrobe) before opening the door of his room and heading downstairs.

It was just after 8:00 AM, and so Bruce figured he'd have at least an hour or so (and probably more like two or three) of time to himself before Tony would be up. Thinking of breakfast, he made his way into the kitchen.

Where he immediately saw he'd been wrong about his assumption of having time to himself.

Tony was perched at the island in the middle of the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee and working on a tablet.

When Bruce entered the kitchen though, he looked up. And then, accusingly, declared, "You didn't tell me tomorrow was your birthday, Banner."

Bruce swallowed, surprised by both the tone and what Tony was saying. Honestly, he'd forgotten about it. It wasn't like it was important. He was going to be forty-one years old, who celebrated for that? What _was_ important was...how the hell did Tony find out about it?

And what god awful thing was he going to do?

The first question was easy to answer. It had been in his file, almost certainly. The second question, though...

Cautiously, Bruce answered, "I forgot. I didn't realize it was important."

Tony sighed hugely, dramatically, before he stood up, shaking his head. "Oh, Bruce. That kind of attitude is just not gonna work at all." He patted Bruce's shoulder. "Don't worry, big guy. Tony'll take care of everything."

He left, heading towards his workshop.

Bruce stood in the kitchen for a moment after he'd left, wondering what the hell had just happened.

Whatever it was...he had a bad feeling about it.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

**I promise the story's going to pick up the pace soon. Really.**

**I'm going to see Iron Man 3 today, so I'm pretty excited to see if I can fit it into my AU. My hopes aren't high, but we'll see.**

**Reviews are always nice.**


	6. Settling

**Thanks as always to my beta, irite, for keeping me on my toes in terms of continuity.**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

Bruce was making himself breakfast and trying to figure why Tony (a more or less grown man) was insisting on celebrating a meaningless birthday (that wasn't even his), when Natalie came into the kitchen.

Natalie...Bruce had mixed feelings about her. She seemed nice enough. Kind of frighteningly polite, and extremely efficient. But definitely a little bit...intense. The way she'd taken out Tony's driver/bodyguard/whatever had been intimidating. But she seemed like an okay sort of person, if maybe vastly overqualified to be a PA.

Well, the economy was in a slump. Lots of people were taking jobs below their skill level. Hadn't that been what he had been doing for years? He could relate.

Natalie was typing on her phone, but looked up when she entered the room. "Good morning, Bruce." She set a newspaper and a stack of mail down on the counter and immediately went back to tapping away on the keyboard.

Bruce returned the greeting. Then he reached hesitantly for the newspaper. Natalie, without looking up from her phone, pulled the paper out from under the mail and pushed it in Bruce's direction. With a small shrug to himself (he figured Natalie just had great peripheral vision), he opened it and simultaneously took a bite of his oatmeal. Honestly, he wasn't sure why Tony even had food, since he was reasonably sure that Tony just ate junk food and take out, but Bruce wasn't going to complain. _He _liked oatmeal, after all.

And he lived here now, so he was going to help himself.

At least, maybe he lived here. He was still torn, but knew he had to make a decision soon. He couldn't deny he liked it here. Having breakfast in this ridiculously sunny kitchen, he felt more at ease than he had in about five years. Not to mention the veritable playground that was Tony's workshop. Having access to that would be amazing. Bruce knew there was so much potential for advancement. With real equipment (and not just scraps he cobbled together), he might be able to make decent progress towards a cure for his condition, or at least a means of suppressing it. That alone should have led him to unequivocally accept Tony's offer.

But Bruce didn't feel comfortable accepting that kind of generosity. Even if he _had _told Tony he'd stick around, actually doing so didn't sit right with him. How could he ever pay Tony back for what he was doing? The whole 'giving Bruce a place to stay' thing was bad enough, but he was also offering some kind of protection from the myriad government agencies that were tailing him, and laboratory space, and supplies. For what?

He didn't think Tony was doing it for some nefarious purpose—Tony was way too blunt and straightforward for that kind of manipulation—but Bruce couldn't deny that he'd be in Tony's debt. And he wasn't sure if that was somewhere he wanted to be. _Tony _may very well never expect repayment, but Bruce knew he couldn't let a debt like that go unpaid.

Not to mention the risk he'd be putting Tony and all of his friends and staff at if he stayed. That should have been enough to convince him to go. But, if he could find a cure, then maybe it would be worth it...?

Unaware of how Bruce was angsting over his morning source of fiber, Natalie straightened her skirt and sat down on one of the stools across from him, before asking politely, "Did you sleep well?"

Startled out of his reverie (because Natalie did not seem like the type for small talk, and he'd been expecting to eat in silence), Bruce answered slowly, "Uh. Yeah. I guess?"

"That's good," she replied evenly. Then, "Can I get you anything?"

At the moment, all Bruce really wanted was to eat his breakfast and get on with the awkward part of the day where he had to go talk to Tony about A. his future living situation and B. whatever he was scheming in terms of birthday plans. So he shook his head, trying to convey that he wanted to be left alone.

Natalie nodded, glancing down at her phone. "Mr. Stark informed me that you intend to stay here on a more long term basis than he had at first envisioned. He wanted me to make sure you had everything you needed for the foreseeable future." She looked back up, and Bruce got the sudden (though perhaps not logical) impression that she was judging his attire. Or maybe his longer-than-normal hair. She repeated, "Can I get you anything? At all? Mr. Stark was fairly explicit in his wish that you be made comfortable."

Oh, Bruce could only imagine. And trust Tony to sic his new assistant on him, too, first thing in the morning, before he could work up the courage to decline the invitation he'd already accepted anyway. It was like Tony _knew _Bruce was planning on backing out.

_He probably does_. For all the manic energy and absentmindedness, Tony was pretty perceptive. And while Bruce didn't think he'd given any concrete outward sign of his indecision, it wasn't really a stretch to realize why he might be uncomfortable here.

Or maybe he was just overthinking things, and Tony was just continuing to be ridiculously generous. That was always a possibility.

But he wasn't going to take advantage of it, if that was the case. "No, really, I think I'm good," Bruce stated. He quickly ate the last few bites of his oatmeal and chugged his remaining orange juice before standing. He knew he had to get down to talk to Tony ASAP, because otherwise, Natalie was probably going to keep hounding him.

Bruce got the feeling she could be dogged, when she had to be.

Natalie just answered his denial with a calm, "If you're sure. Don't hesitate to ask, if you _do _need anything."

Bruce nodded, and then tossed his dishes in the dishwasher. He headed down to Tony's workshop.

Tony was working with a soldering gun, new arc reactor on the workbench in front of him. The music playing was deafening, but when Tony saw Bruce, he called out, "Mute!" and the lab went silent.

"I've decided to forgive you for neglecting to mention your birthday," Tony declared imperiously as Bruce approached. He set his equipment down. "I can see where you might forget to mention something that important; you obviously have no sense of fun. Anyway, did Natalie talk to you? I sent her an e-mail this morning."

"Uh," Bruce hedged, "She asked me if I needed anything."

"Good!" Tony declared. "So we're all set, then."

"I said I didn't," Bruce went on.

Tony cocked his head to one side. "Um. Why?" He looked Bruce up and down. "Not to be rude, but there's definitely some things you need. Like. Clothing that doesn't look like it came from an open-air market in Paraguay or something."

"Guatemala," Bruce muttered. And honestly, only the one shirt had come from there. Well. And the stretchy pants. Geez.

"Whatever," Tony said dismissively. "The point is, if you're going to be living amongst civilized people—well, kind of civilized, anyway—you're going to need a bit of uh, stuff. Besides, how often does a billionaire offer to buy you whatever you want?"

"About that," Bruce began. That was as good of an opening as he could hope for. "Look. I've been thinking about it, and I think I shouldn't stay here—"

"Is this a 'I'm secretly a giant rage monster' thing, or a 'Tony, I can't accept your hospitality' thing?" Tony interrupted. "'Cause both of those reasons suck."

Bruce wasn't quite sure what to say to that, so he opted for honesty. "Uh, both? I can't repay you for anything. I have no idea why you're doing this. And being here is dangerous. For you, and everyone within a couple miles' radius. And for me."

Tony frowned. "Did I ask you to pay me back? And don't start with the 'it's dangerous' thing, I don't give a shit."

Well, that was blunt. Bruce bristled. "If Ross comes looking for me, though, I could tear this place apart—"

"He's not going to," Tony stated with absolute certainty. "At least, not anytime soon."

Seeing the irritated look on Bruce's face, he elaborated, "Rhodey got back to me. Remember, I called him? I had him poke around a little bit. Nothing illegal, even. Anyway, Rhodey says you're in the clear. Ross is on an extended assignment in Afghanistan. Good place for him, I think." He paused. "Kinda convenient, having him on the other side of the world. Not that I'm complaining."

Bruce was stuck a little ways back in the conversation. "You told someone in the U.S. military that I'm here?"

"I _told _you," Tony said defensively, "Rhodey's cool. Besides, what'd you think I was going to talk to him about? The weather? I had to tell him you were here, otherwise what I wanted him to check out wouldn't have made sense."

Bruce opened his mouth to object further (because he hadn't thought Tony was stupid enough to explicitly tell _anyone _he was staying here, let alone someone military), but Tony shut that line of conversation down. "Look. I want you to stay here. I know harboring a government fugitive is going to annoy the hell out of everyone. Plus," Tony raised an eyebrow, "I get the deep, moral satisfaction of doing the right thing. _And _you invent cool shit with me. Consider all of that your payment to me. As for the danger...we can work something out. Hell, make that your first goal."

Bruce could feel his mouth was hanging open, so he shut it quickly. Then he said the only thing that came to mind. "You want me to stay because it'll annoy the government?"

Tony shrugged. "Among other things." Then, distinctly whiny, "Come ooooon, Bob, you know you want to!"

The thing was, the whining was oddly effective, if only because Bruce wanted it to stop. Or maybe he'd just been looking for one more iota of reassurance that staying was the right thing to do. So he nodded. "Fine. But," and he gave Tony his best glare, "Don't. Call. Me. Bob."

"Sure thing," Tony agreed amicably, in a way that Bruce understood meant that Tony had no intention of actually complying with what he'd just agreed to. Tony looked down at the new arc reactor in his hand. "Could you grab me the chunk of element? I think I'm about ready to stick it in here. Got a few hours of work in this morning after Rhodey called me at ass o'clock for the second goddamn day in a row. He thinks he's funny. He's not. But I was prepared this time."

Bruce walked across the room and grabbed the small chunk of metal, mostly ignoring Tony's increasingly bitter rambling. He handed the new element over obediently. Tony looked at it for a moment before sliding it into place in the new reactor, which immediately began to glow a bright, blinding blue.

"Well," Tony observed, "Seems to work." He lifted his shirt and reached for the reactor in the middle of his chest.

"Sir," JARVIS immediately spoke up, "I _strongly _recommend further testing before proceeding with the replacement—"

Neither man was listening to the AI, though. Tony was busy yanking his old arc reactor out of the metal-plated hole in his chest, and Bruce was too busy staring open-mouthed at him. It was, after all, the first time he'd gotten a good look at what was keeping Tony alive. Sure, he'd seen it glowing through Tony's shirt, but that was different that actually _seeing _it. Actually seeing it was simultaneously one of the coolest and one of the most disturbing things he'd ever seen. In addition to the hole in Tony's chest, the dark gridwork on his skin emanating from the reactor site didn't look very good, either.

_So that's what palladium poisoning looks like. How long has he been like that?_

Quickly, Tony tossed the old reactor aside and pushed the new one into place. As it snapped in, it began to glow even brighter, and Tony made a distinctly uncomfortable face.

"Are you okay?" Bruce asked quickly, hands lifting with his desire to help, having just watched Tony yank a part of his body out and toss it aside. That was _not _normal. So having a bad reaction seemed distinctly possible.

"Fine," Tony choked out. "It's just—it tastes like—coconut. And metal." The new reactor reached peak brightness before tapering off a bit, and Tony let out a deep breath. "That was...not fun," he admitted.

"You think?" Bruce snapped. Now that the show was over, he could reflect on how _stupid _Tony was. What was he thinking, just _shoving that thing into his chest_? Bruce wasn't sure how the arc reactor worked, but it could have electrocuted Tony...or, or, or _something_.

Tony just shrugged at Bruce's irritation, though, in his usual laissez-faire way. "Dude, Bob, I built the first one of these things in a cave more or less at gunpoint. Didn't really get to do a lot of testing, so...I'm okay with a little risk."

And there was the 'Bob' again. Bruce sighed. He supposed Tony must be okay with some risk, if he was seriously inviting Bruce to stay. Still, if he was going to stay here without going green, he was going to have to get used to Tony's attitude and his tendency to do whatever he wanted, consequences be damned.

Or he'd have to immediately fabricate a way to keep the Other Guy in check.

Apparently taking Bruce's sigh as an admittance of defeat, Tony stood and bounced on the balls of his feet. "So, that's about all I had planned for today. You know. Not dying and all." He frowned. "I should probably tell Pep I was dying. I haven't yet. But maybe I should." He shrugged. "Anyway, there's some things you and I need to work out if you're staying. You _are _staying? For sure this time?"

Bruce nodded. It was an opportunity he couldn't pass up. And Tony seemed to want him to stay, for whatever reasons. And if things got bad, well, it wasn't like he couldn't leave if he wanted to. Tony seemed to have a distinct lack of holding facilities in his house (_Probably one of the few things he _doesn't _have_, Bruce thought).

"Great!" Tony exclaimed. "Then, first, you're going to tell Natalie what you need. And I have some things I need her to pick up, too."

"Such as?" Bruce asked cautiously. Moving forward with this still felt a little surreal, and he still wasn't exactly 100% on board, but Tony seemed sure.

"Well," Tony said, "Party supplies, mostly."

Uh oh.

Bruce cleared his throat. "What?"

Tony clapped his hands together. "Yeah. Chips. And uh, salsa. And balloons. That sort of shit. Banner, it's your _birthday_, and we're going to celebrate. I invited a couple of people—"

"You what?"

"—Nothing big. Just like, Pepper, and Rhodey, and maybe thirty or forty other people. It'll be great—"

"_How many _people, exactly?"

"—very low-key, you'll love it. We're having it catered, actually, Natalie's making the call later—"

"Tony." Bruce wondered momentarily if he was having a nightmare. He pinched his arm roughly to check, and was dismayed to find that he was still awake. "Tony, you didn't."

"And I couldn't find strippers on such short notice, but Natalie is going to order one of those bouncy castles, and a DJ—"

Overwhelmed with a sense of dawning horror, Bruce quietly turned on his heel and walked out of the workshop.

He needed to talk to Natalie before Tony did.

* * *

Truth be told, Tony hadn't arranged for a bouncy castle, or catering, or a DJ. He wasn't completely clueless, knew that sort of thing wouldn't really strike Bruce's fancy. He _had _invited a couple of people—Rhodey, along with Happy and Natalie, who were going to be around anyway. He was going to invite Pepper. But that was all. It was going to be very low-key, like he'd said, and really more of a housewarming than a birthday party.

It wasn't every day that Tony Stark acquired a new roommate, after all.

But, for the moment, he'd really just wanted Bruce out of the way. Because as much as he liked the other guy, he kind of needed a moment to himself. He had, after all, just stopped himself from dying, and that was kind of a big deal. For months, he'd been convinced his end was nigh, so finally defeating the spectre that had been haunting him was a relief. A huge relief, actually.

More importantly, though, he _did _have to tell Pepper. He hadn't yet, because he hadn't wanted to worry her, on top of all the other things she had to worry about. Besides, it wasn't like there was anything she could have done about it. Now, though, he knew he was going to be fine. At least as fine as he ever was. So he needed to call Pepper.

And that was something he wanted to do without an audience. Because he was pretty sure the lecture was going to be _epic_.

Tony checked the time on his computer. It was just after 10:00 AM. Pepper was usually in meetings in the mornings, but she might be in her office now. And if she wasn't, he could leave her a message and she could call him. At her convenience, even.

Tony was getting so good at accommodating other people.

"JARVIS, call Pepper," Tony spoke aloud while mentally preparing for what he was going to say.

"Certainly, sir," JARVIS replied obligingly. And then the workshop was filled with the sound of a ringing phone.

It rang three times, and Tony was getting ready to leave a voicemail when Pepper answered. "Tony? What's wrong?"

Tony thought it spoke volumes about their relationship that she immediately assumed something was wrong. "Nothing's wrong. Can't I just call to say 'hi,' Pep?"

Pepper sighed, exasperated already. "No, you can't. I have a meeting in ten minutes, Tony. Is it about Natalie? Did she quit already? I—"

"No, Natalie's fine," Tony interrupted. "More than fine. Excellent. That's not what I'm calling about. Actually, I, uh." And he stopped. Because how was he supposed to bring up the 'Hey I was dying but now I'm not' thing?"

"Tony..." Pepper prompted, a warning clear in her voice. "What's going on?"

"Nothing!" Tony insisted. "Really. It's just. I, uh. Well. Remember I told you that SHIELD had sent a physicist over to help me work on a new project?"

"Yes...?"

Ugh, this was awkward. "Well, hey, good news! We invented a new element! And it's a good replacement for the palladium in the arc reactor, since that was kinda poisoning me, and—"

"It was _what_?" Pepper's voice had gone up noticeably in pitch.

Damn, Tony had been hoping he could slip that past her. "Um. Yeah. Palladium poisoning."

"Tony! That's not good—"

"Not really," Tony agreed easily. "It could have been fatal—"

"TONY! You were _dying_?" She was basically shrieking at this point, and as much as Tony hated making her upset, it was extremely gratifying to know that there was someone who cared for him this much. He'd never really had that before Pepper (and, well, Rhodey, but he didn't scream at Tony, just woke him up at the asscrack of dawn).

"I'm not now, though!" he pointed out in what he thought was a reasonable tone. "New element! Come on, give me some credit!"

The line went silent for several seconds, and then Pepper said, "You're really going to be okay?"

"I am most definitely going to be okay," Tony reassured her.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

To be fair, Tony hadn't told anyone. He said as much, and then added, "It would have just been more stress for you. I didn't want that, Miss CEO."

Pepper sighed again. "Fine. Okay. Is there anything _else _you need to tell me?"

What a great opening. "As a matter of fact...there is. I invited Banner to live here."

More silence. Another sigh. "Do I even want to know why?"

Honestly? "Probably not. But he agreed to it. And, Pep, tomorrow's his birthday, so I was thinking we could have a little soiree or something. You know, welcome to Malibu, congrats, you're getting old. That sort of thing."

Pepper sounded beleaguered when she answered, "Do whatever you want, Tony."

"Will you come? I think you'll like him; he's nothing at all like me."

"Tomorrow? What time?"

"Seven-ish?"

"I'll see what I can do. I have a meeting—"

"I know, I know," Tony said cheerily. "See you tomorrow!"

"Maybe, Tony. I said maybe."

"Did you? Because I heard 'yes.'"

Pepper sighed one last time. "Goodbye, Tony."

"Bye Peps!"

She ended the call, and Tony looked around his workshop, pleased. He'd been dreading doing that, but she'd taken the whole thing remarkably well. But then, he didn't know why he was surprised. Pepper handled things. That was what she did, what had made her the perfect assistant for him, something that made her a damn good CEO.

Now...that had taken ten or so minutes. Enough time for Bruce to find Natalie and stop her from ordering bouncy castles and catering. Or at least attempting to stop her. Poor woman was probably confused as hell, wondering what Bruce was rambling about.

Tony took the stairs two at a time, marveling at how much more _healthy _he felt already, without a chunk of corroding palladium running his heart. He positively _bounded _through his house, looking for either his new roommate or his assistant.

He found them both, actually, in the living room. Bruce was awkwardly standing on a footstool while Natalie took his measurements and admonished him to "Stand still, or I'm not going to get this right."

When Tony entered the room, they both looked up at him. "Bruce doesn't know his size," Natalie explained. "He says he's not big on malls, so I offered to show him how to shop online. But none of his clothes fit him, so we can't use them as a reference."

Bruce, for his part, was blushing. "It's just, uh, I don't have a lot of time for shopping," he admitted as Natalie wrapped a measuring tape around his waist.

Tony didn't even know where she'd gotten a measuring tape; he didn't think he owned one. At least, none used for people-measuring purposes. Well, whatever. Scarily efficient, wasn't that Natalie's M.O.?

"Mr. Stark," Natalie said nonchalantly, wrapping the tape up. "It's not nice to tease your new roommate. He seemed to think I was supposed to be ordering a 'bouncy castle' for his birthday party tomorrow. And a DJ."

Tony smirked. "Yeah, uh, sorry about that, dude. But, hey, gotta get my amusement in somewhere, right?"

"Preferably not at my expense," Bruce grumbled, stepping down from the stool. "I don't do 'panic' well."

Natalie looked up sharply. "Mr. Stark should be more considerate."

Geez, these people were absolutely no fun at all. "Okay, okay, sorry. Won't happen again, boy scout's honor. Or something."

Bruce and Natalie exchanged a look that very clearly communicated their disbelief.

Boy, it was nice that they were bonding. Over mutual annoyance at him, no less. Funny how many people that had brought together.

"Do you need anything, Mr. Stark?" Natalie asked, after a moment of silence.

Oh, yeah. "I do have something I need you to pick up. No strippers, no DJ, no bouncy castle," he assured Bruce. "But, uh, cake would be good."

Bruce opened his mouth to object, and Tony cut him off. "Come on, dude. You're going to be like, what, sixty or something, live large. Have carbs. Party on."

"I'm not—_sixty?_ _Really?_" Bruce sputtered.

Tony just laughed.

Natalie took the opportunity to interject, "What kind of cake should I get, Mr. Stark?"

Tony paused. It hadn't actually occurred to him to ask Bruce about his preferences, and he was fine with any kind of cake. So he deferred to the other man. "Bruce? Chocolate? White? Marble? Funfetti?"

Bruce frowned, then gave a small sigh. "White. With white frosting."

This did not surprise Tony at all. The blandest possible cake. That fit Bruce _perfectly_. Still, with an exuberant nod, he said to Natalie, "I'll email you a list of the rest of the stuff, and you can pick it up whenever." To Bruce, he said, "Come on, I want to get you a workspace set up, so you'll need to tell me what you need."

With that, he dragged Bruce back downstairs.

* * *

They spent the rest of the day working on getting Bruce's work area together. It was a constant battle between Tony's rampant desire to buy all the shiny things he could find and Bruce's stubborn refusal to let him. Bruce thought it was bad enough that he was going to be living here, that Tony was going to buy him a damn _wardrobe_, but piling multi-thousand dollar lab equipment on top of it? It was ridiculous. Completely, utterly ridiculous.

But Tony seemed bound and determined to do it, for whatever his reasons, and soon Bruce just stepped aside and let him go to town. So Tony cordoned off a corner of his workshop for Bruce, designating areas for lab tables and a damn DNA sequencer and all kinds of other tech that mostly left Bruce's mouth hanging open.

"Don't look at me like that," Tony chastised Bruce after a couple hours. "I've always wanted most of this stuff anyway. It's not like this is a huge inconvenience for me."

So Bruce at least tried to keep his expression neutral.

Later, they ended up playing video games of all things, like Bruce _wasn't _a 'sixty' year old man, and it was just so surreal that he wondered, for the second time that day, if maybe he was dreaming.

A couple of days ago, he'd been living in a cabin in Canada, and now he was living with a _celebrity _in _Malibu_.

Thus, that night, lying in bed, Bruce once again found himself mulling over what the hell, exactly, he was doing here. If he took Tony at his word, then his entire purpose here was to A. annoy the government and B. give Tony someone to play with. It felt...cheap, maybe. That his life's purpose had become _that_. But at the same time, Tony seemed to respect him as a scientist, seemed like he genuinely wanted Bruce to be comfortable here.

Teasing him about DJs and catering aside.

And really...when you looked at it...Tony didn't really have anyone else to throw his money at. If it made him feel better, if he got 'moral satisfaction' out of it, then...maybe it wasn't all bad.

Besides, Bruce found that he actually _liked _Tony. Sure, he was abrasive, and reckless, and brash, and childish, and annoying. But Tony treated him like he was human, something that had been in short supply for years.

It meant a lot.

So he wasn't going to give up.

It wasn't like Tony was going to let him, anyway.

The next morning, Bruce got himself up and out of bed and put on the nicest clothes he had (he'd ordered some new stuff with Natalie's help, but it wasn't going to arrive for a couple of days) and prepared himself for his first social gathering since the accident. The 'party' wasn't until 7:00, but at 9:30 in the morning, Bruce was already nervous. After all, it _was _going to be the first time he met Tony's friends. And one of them was military. Military _and _knew what Bruce was, according to Tony. Tony trusted him, but Bruce wasn't sure if he could. So, yeah. Nervous.

And nervous, Bruce knew well, wasn't good.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed.**

**Please review; I'll love you forever if you do.**


	7. It's My Party and I'll Cry if I Want To

**Thanks, as always, to my beta, irite, for going through more than the usual number of drafts of this ridiculously long chapter.**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

Bruce put up with Tony's chattering in the workshop until just before lunchtime.

That was about all his nerves could take.

Tony was working on what looked an awful lot like a new Iron Man suit, though he insisted it was for 'construction' and thus not an Iron Man suit at all. As he worked, he talked about what he was doing in terms of engineering, talked about the upcoming 'party,' talked about all the cool ideas he had for stuff he and Bruce could work on in the future.

Bruce, for his part, worked on setting up his own computer and desk, getting everything connected and running, installing new software. All the stuff Tony had ordered wasn't going to be in for a few days, but Bruce figured he could, at the very least, start consolidating his past research (what he had left, anyway) and scanning the literature.

Like that would help. He knew his case was rather...unique. Still, he thought there might be _something_.

By 11:45 AM, though, Bruce gave up on the pretense of working and of listening to Tony's endless monologue. He thought he was being ridiculous, that it was silly to get so worked up over a damn_ party_, but he'd never been big on social gatherings. Even when he'd worked at Culver, he'd done his best to avoid the faculty mixers and such. He wasn't big on...socializing. And he'd actually managed to get worse about it (he hadn't thought that was possible) since the accident. So the idea of a party, combined with what he knew about Tony's unpredictability and stunning ability to disregard personal boundaries, was just making him extremely nervous.

He didn't know what was going to happen. And as much as he was sure Tony's intentions were good (or at the very least...not malicious), Bruce didn't _quite_ trust him not to do, well, something stupid and reckless. And he didn't trust himself, really, to be able to handle stupid and reckless. That was what it came down to, and maybe _that _was what was making him nervous.

Bruce knew that being nervous wasn't good. Any time his sympathetic nervous system acted up, it could potentially be an issue. The first thing he thought he could do to get _less _nervous was to get away from Tony's exuberant, unending, excited chatter.

Honestly, that man could talk. And did talk. At length. Shrugging out some of the stiffness in his shoulders, Bruce stood up and stretched.

The movement stopped Tony's rambling. "What's up, Bob?"

_That_, Bruce decided_, is really, really annoying. _Aloud, he said, "I was going to head upstairs."

Tony set down the 3D holographic blueprint he was tweaking. "Awesome. I was thinking lunch sounded good—"

"Uh," Bruce interrupted, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly, "I was kind of thinking I could, um. I need a couple of minutes of, er, quiet."

Tony narrowed his eyes. "I can be quiet, you just had to ask—" Then, it clicked. "Oh! You need space." With remarkable grace (considering Bruce had basically just admitted that Tony was driving him crazy), Tony mused, "Uh, sure. You live here. Take all the space you need. And time. You could...take a stroll, or uh, hey, head down to the beach. I don't do...outside, but if you do, go for it."

That actually sounded good. Getting some air after being stuck inside for days would be nice. But... "Do you think anyone would recognize me? Or...?"

Tony shook his head. "Nah. Private beach, anyway. If there's anyone out there, I'll have them arrested." He grinned. "Besides, dude, it's _December_. Getting down there's a little tricky, but there's a path by the side door." He paused, then added, "Just make sure you're back by 7:00; that's when I told Pep and everyone to come by."

Ah, just what he needed. Another reminder of the party. Bruce nodded, and Tony went back to his hologram. Bruce headed upstairs.

He actually went up to his room and changed, not wanting to get sand all over the nicest clothing he currently possessed (which was what he'd put on that morning). Then, wearing something more suited to December beach-wandering in Malibu (khakis and a hooded sweatshirt), he headed towards the side door.

Natalie was in the living room as Bruce walked by, working on a laptop. She looked up as Bruce walked by. "Going out?"

"Just down to the beach," Bruce answered. Then, because something about Natalie inspired confidence, he admitted, "Tony's driving me nuts."

Natalie raised an eyebrow. "Imagine that." They both smiled, and then Natalie asked, "Can I get you anything? Do you need anything for the party tonight?"

"Yeah," Bruce muttered under his breath. "Food poisoning, maybe."

Completely serious, Natalie stated, "That could be arranged."

Bruce chuckled. Natalie's sense of humor was...odd, but definitely after his own heart. He shook his head. "No, I think I'll be okay."

"If you're sure. No one's forcing you to do anything that might make you...uncomfortable."

"I know," Bruce replied. "Really, I think I'll be fine. Thanks, though."

"If you're sure," Natalie said, returning to her work. "If you _do _need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."

Bruce agreed, then headed through the room and towards the side door.

If he'd glanced behind him, he might have seen the oddly intense look that Natalie was giving him as he walked away. Or maybe he would have seen her pick up her phone to send a quick text message.

He saw neither, though, he was so focused on getting outside and putting his stress behind him.

Tony's house was on a cliff, but there was a path leading down and winding off to one side that led to the beach below. Bruce thought he knew why Tony never traversed this particular path; it was kind of rugged. And steep. In fact, even with all of his experience trampling through third world countries, Bruce found it a little tough to navigate. Still, within a few moments, he was down by the water, the sound of the waves lapping against the shore drowning out almost everything else.

There wasn't much beach—the cliff was pretty sheer, after all—and what _was _there was pretty rocky. Still, it was as deserted as Tony had promised it would be, and after listening to Tony chatter for _days_, Bruce relished the quiet.

He wandered back and forth across the beach before settling down in the sand in a relatively rock-free area. Then he just let the sun soak into his skin, enjoying the cool (but not cold) breeze. He stayed that way for almost half an hour, just taking in the solitude, doing his best to clear his mind.

Which was working fairly well. Until, after about twenty-five minutes, Bruce noticed that he had the strangest feeling he was being watched.

He glanced around, but there was no one there. The beach was still apparently deserted save him.

That fact did little to soothe him. Maybe it was just paranoia, after so many years on the run, but now that he'd noticed the feeling, Bruce couldn't shake it. And he didn't think it was just paranoia, either, because with him, when was it _ever _'just' paranoia? No, he was being watched, which was Very Bad. Nothing good had ever come of it before, and nothing good was going to come of it now.

So he stood up as quickly as he could while still seeming casual, and made his way back towards the path up to Tony's house, doing his best to will the tension out of his posture. Whereas he'd been mostly relaxed a few minutes ago, well on his way to 'completely centered' for the first time in days, he was now more tightly wound than he had been since the night he'd shown up on Tony's doorstep. And then he'd been half-expecting a platoon to come marching down the road for him.

Striding back up the path, Bruce kept his gaze firmly forward, resisting the urge to look around.

Which was too bad. Because, for the second time in less than an hour, he missed something that he might have preferred to have seen. In this case, the delivery driver from Ty's Thai laid out behind an outcropping of rocks, sniper rifle loaded with tranquilizers, extras within easy reach.

Of course, Bruce probably wouldn't have been able to find him, even if he _had _been looking. The guy was pretty well camouflaged, after all. And even if Bruce _had_ seen him, he probably wouldn't have recognized him.

Oblivious, Bruce moved as quickly as he thought prudent, aiming to get back inside ASAP. He mentally kicked himself all the while (_Should have known better than to go outside, should have known something like this would happen_).

_Except_, he thought to himself, shuffling back into the house, _Nothing _did _happen._

All he had to go on was a feeling, and well, he _was _kind of paranoid.

Maybe he was overreacting.

Natalie was still in the living room when Bruce came by. "That was short," she commented as he walked by, nodding a greeting.

"Yeah," Bruce agreed. "It was, uh, cold."

She nodded absently, apparently occupied with her work. Bruce passed through the living room, then stopped in the hallway. He couldn't decide if he wanted to go downstairs and tell Tony what had happened (and risk being mocked for being paranoid) or keep it to himself until he knew he wasn't just imagining things.

_Oh, screw it_, Bruce thought. _Get over yourself. If something's actually going on, he deserves to know. Least you can do._

That thought propelled him down the stairs and back into the workshop, where Tony had quite literally not moved since Bruce had left.

Except to turn the music up, apparently.

Still, when he noticed Bruce, Tony lowered the volume level back down to 'bearable' and asked, "Have a nice time? You're back...soon. Right? You haven't been gone long?"

Bruce nodded. "Yeah, I, uh. I think..." he trailed off, not really sure how to phrase this.

Tony set the hologram he was working with aside, giving Bruce his full attention. "What's up?"

Well, Tony always went with 'blunt and to the point.' He'd probably welcome that from Bruce. "I think there was someone watching me while I was out there."

"Paparazzi?" Tony asked. "Sometimes they find their way here. Maybe they thought you were my new boyfriend." He gave Bruce a once over. "Not really my type. I prefer redheads."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "I didn't see anyone," he admitted, ignoring Tony's comment. "I just had a feeling..."

"Ah." Tony cocked his head to one side. "Well. I mean, There might have been someone. It's not Ross. But...maybe SHIELD? Those assholes know you're here, could be keeping tabs."

That was kind of what Bruce had been thinking. "Maybe, yeah. But I didn't _see _anything."

Tony shrugged, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. "I'm sure they're not completely stupid." He smirked. "Well, probably not. They can probably hide a guy if they want to." He frowned. "This is bullshit. They can't just wander around out there without a warrant." He paused, then added, "Or maybe they can. In which case, fuck them. I guess...stay inside 'til we figure something out? It sucks, but hey, at least inside is awesome."

'Bullshit' about summed up Bruce's feelings on the matter, and it was somewhat gratifying to see Tony immediately jumping to his defense. Tony believed him. Didn't even really question him. For as obnoxious and immature as Tony was, he seemed to take Bruce's concerns seriously. Even if Tony couldn't do anything, it still felt good to have _someone _to talk to about this stuff. Before, when he'd been hounded by the government, he'd had to handle it alone.

At least...until Betty had stepped in.

And look how well _that _had turned out.

Bruce sighed. He'd just have to hope that _this _went better.

Hope. Right.

With a small sigh, Bruce had to acknowledge that his walk had unfortunately had the opposite effect of what he'd intended, and his nerves were now becoming a serious concern. So even being able to confess his worries did little to calm him, and the only reply he had for Tony was a stiff shrug and an equally stiff, "Sure. I can do that."

For a moment, Tony looked longingly at the hologram he was working with before turning back to Bruce. "I can work on some new security software, maybe talk to Happy about getting some more physical security on the property. In the meantime...why don't you, I don't know...do you have hobbies? I mean, I like to fix engines and build robots, but that doesn't seem like your cup of tea."

Even before the accident, Bruce hadn't exactly been big on 'hobbies.' And then he'd spent the last five years working menial jobs and staying on the run, which didn't leave a whole lot of time for refining his talents or doing anything, well, fun. He admitted as much with a small, self-deprecating shrug. "I came here intending to work," he finished.

"Sure, but this isn't a gulag," Tony answer, hopping to his feet and beginning to pace. "You don't need to work 24/7. I mean, there's gotta be _something _you like to do. Paint by numbers? Theremin? Writing angsty poetry? I mean, come on. Latin dance?"

Bruce could feel a headache coming on.

* * *

At 4:45 PM, Natalie stepped into the workshop and muted Tony's music.

Honestly, how many times did he have to tell people he hated it when they did that? At least once more, apparently. "Please don't mute my music." Pepper had always done that, and for a moment, he felt nostalgic despite his minor irritation.

She ignored him, just like Pepper always had, and that helped his nostalgia significantly. "Mr. Stark, your guests are going to be arriving in just over two hours. I've arranged everything for the party. Do you require anything else before then?"

He considered. "No, I don't think so. I mean, there's food, right?"

Natalie nodded. "I ordered it this morning, it'll be delivered and set up at 6:30."

"Then that's what matters. Wait. Booze, too?"

Natalie nodded again, this time with a slight roll of her eyes.

"Okay, then we're good."

"Okay, sir, if you're sure, then I'm going to go—"

"You'd better not be leaving," Tony interrupted her. "You're invited. I invited you. You can't _go home _right now, Natalie, we are going to _party._" He raised an eyebrow suggestively. "Of course, if you're not really into that, you and I could probably find something else to do. Just the two of us."

The look she gave him was amused, or maybe annoyed. She ignored his last comment entirely. "I wouldn't dream of leaving, sir. I was going to say that I was going to headquarters; Ms. Potts has requested my assistance with a few things. I'll be back before 6:30 to attend to the rest of the setup then."

Well, it had been worth a shot.

It wasn't like he had a whole lot for Natalie to do at the moment (at least, nothing she was going to agree to), so Tony nodded. "Yeah, sure." Then, before he forgot, "Have you seen Bruce?"

Bruce had been acting strangely all afternoon. Not that Tony blamed him, really. If _he'd _gone down to the beach to get some space and had instead found out that he was being trailed by some kind of government shadow, he'd be creeped out, too.

But the thing was, Bruce didn't really _do _creeped out. At least, that was the impression that Tony was getting. He didn't do 'creeped out,' but he sure as hell did 'pissy.' He'd seemed uptight since he'd gotten back from his little sojourn, and all of Tony's attempts to get him to chill out didn't work. In fact, he just got _more _tense the more Tony tried to help.

Of course, for Tony, 'helping' mostly constituted following Bruce around the workshop and badgering him to find something to help him relax. Still. Tony was _helping_.

Finally, Bruce had thrown his hands up in the air and stalked out of the workshop, muttering something about how Tony was pissing him off and 'you won't like me when I'm angry.'

Like any of this was Tony's fault, really.

He was the _good guy _here. And the way he saw it, Bruce just needed to relax. It wasn't like he was going to do his transformation thing at the drop of a hat. Tony had seen what was in the file SHIELD had sent along with the guy. Anti-aircraft artillery. Jumping out of helicopters. That's what did it. Not feeling mild irritation or, well, whatever it was that he had going on. Geez.

Still, he'd given Bruce his space. He didn't want to deal with him while he was in a pissy mood, but Tony didn't want to deal with _anyone _when they were in a pissy mood. Including, for the record, himself. And he didn't turn into a very large and supposedly uncontrollable rage monster.

Natalie nodded in response to Tony's question. "He's upstairs. He seemed a little agitated," and here she glared at Tony, "So I suggested he try out the gym." She paused, then added, "I lent him some of your clothes." She shrugged. "He didn't have anything appropriate."

Tony shrugged, too. "Fine. Uh, good." He had a lot of clothes. He was fine with sharing. He was already sharing his living space, what was a t-shirt and sweats among friends? He set his coffee cup down, checking the time. "Well, don't let me hold you up."

Natalie nodded and strode back towards the stairs. The view, Tony had to admit, was phenomenal. He could happily watch her walking away from him for ages.

_And given how much she likes you, you'll probably get to._

Oh well. Can't win 'em all, that was Tony's philosophy. Not that it would stop him from trying.

Tony sat quietly for about a half an hour, looking over his new code. The new security software would help, but what he really needed was physical security. Like, goons. Or Jurassic Park-style fences. That might raise some eyebrows, though. Still, he'd made a commitment to keep the government off Bruce's back, and if he was failing on their second official day as roomies? That was unacceptable.

Maybe Rhodey would have some ideas.

With that thought, Tony closed up shop and headed upstairs, too. He was going to head straight up to his room to shower and change, but at the last minute he turned, deciding to check in on Bruce. So he turned and made his way through to the gym, instead.

Bruce was standing with his back to the door when Tony came in, looking out the huge window, hands loose and at his sides. From the looks of things (water bottle placement, mostly) it looked like he'd been working on one of the mats. Yoga, probably, Tony figured.

That fit.

"Nice view, huh?" Tony called out.

Bruce jumped, then turned around with a frown on his face. "Yeah, it is. Didn't we talk about not...surprising me?"

Tony waved a dismissive hand. "Whatever. Natalie's gone to help Pep with some stuff, so it's just us 'til the party. You ready to party hearty?"

Bruce grimaced. "I, uh, no. Never. But," he stepped away from the window, picking up his water, "I think I'll be okay."

"You sure?" Tony asked. "You were kinda bitchy this afternoon."

Bruce's expression turned irritated. "You were annoying."

"I usually am," Tony chirped. "Come on. It'll be fun. Don't worry about anything, we're not going to sing or anything awful like that. Think of it as a 'welcome to Chez Stark' thing. You can meet the people who make Chez Stark and, uh, me, actually, you know, function. I mean, hell, we can make it a 'yay us, we invented a new element thing' if that'd make you happy. Plus I'm gonna talk to Rhodey and see if he has any suggestions to help with security around here, so it'll be productive, too."

At the mention of Rhodey, Bruce's posture tightened. But all he offered was a quiet, "Sure."

Tony frowned. He got that Bruce wasn't into parties, per se. And he even got why Bruce might not be thrilled with someone from the military coming to his birthday/housewarming/whatever. But this guy needed to relax and trust some people—and that was coming from _him_, the guy who trusted practically no one. He wasn't trying to irritate Bruce to death, he just wanted him to see that _these_ people were okay.

But all of that was far too sentimental bullshit for Tony to actually _say_, so instead he said, "Hey, you're already wearing my clothes, wanna try out something a little...nicer?" He could play well with others. Really. Do the roommate thing.

"You're not putting me in a $3,000 suit or something, Tony," Bruce objected. "I'm not...an action figure, or—"

"Course not!" Tony interjected. One didn't wear $3,000 suits to birthday parties. At least, not ones this low-key. He'd top out at $2,000, max. "But come on, dude. Live the life."

Bruce sighed the sigh that Tony was learning meant he'd won. "Fine."

Tony knew his closet was impressive, so he was disappointed when Bruce looked inside and said flatly, "That's all? I was expecting something...airport-hangar sized."

Snot. "Yeah, that's all." He wandered in, pushing past Bruce, perusing his options. "How d'you feel about green?"

Tony could feel the glare Bruce was shooting him. Still, he was polite as ever when he answered, "Not really my color."

"Fair enough." Tony stopped in front of the blues. He decided to be generous and actually _ask _if Bruce had a preference. "See anything you like?"

Bruce snorted and shook his head. "This is more clothing than I've ever seen in my life."

Tony thought that was an exaggeration—surely Bruce had been to a mall or something at some point in his, what, forty-one years? But he got the idea. "Okay, so, green it is...I'm thinking...neon."

Abruptly, Bruce reached out and grabbed a yellow shirt. "Here. This."

"Good choice," Tony said approvingly. He glanced around and yanked down a pair of pants that matched it well enough, then looked through his shoes. As he was doing so, he asked, "Those shoes fit okay?" Bruce was wearing a pair of his running shoes, after all.

"Yeah," Bruce affirmed.

"Good. Keep 'em," Tony instructed. He didn't really need to get them back. "These should fit, too, then," he added, tossing a pair of shoes behind him. He personally preferred sneakers with his suits, but Bruce seemed to be a little more...normal in that regard.

Bruce bent down and picked up the shoes, then accepted the pants Tony was shoving at him. "Uh, thanks. I think."

"No problem," Tony replied easily. Honestly, he'd have to thank Natalie; he might not have thought of playing dress up if she hadn't decided to put Bruce in his clothes first. "Now, go shower." He gave Bruce a quick once-over. "Do you need like, a hair product or something?"

Bruce backed slowly away. "No, I think I'm good."

Tony disagreed—he felt that everyone could use a hair product—but he let Bruce off the hook this time. "Okay. So, everyone's supposed to be here around 7:00." Tony glanced at his watch—it was about a quarter to 6:00. Even he wouldn't take that long to get ready. Well, he could always start the party early. Natalie had said the food would arrive at 6:30. He'd never been _on time _for a party before, let alone early, but hey, weirder things had happened.

As evinced by the fact he had a nuclear physicist standing in his walk-in closet. So. Yeah. Early was fine.

With one more look behind him, Bruce exited and headed down the hall to his own room, practically scurrying to get away before Tony loaded him down with hair gel. Which made Tony laugh.

Some people.

It was just about 6:30 when Tony finished showering, fixing his goatee, dressing, and trying to figure out which pair of sneakers looked best with the suit he'd picked out.

He was heading downstairs when he ran into Natalie. "How's everything going?" he asked, stopping in the middle of the staircase, blocking her path.

"Everything's on track," she assured, trying to edge around him, "Ms. Potts said that she'll be able to make it at 7:00. The last of the food just arrived. All the other snacks and beverages you requested are ready as well. I was just going to see if you or Dr. Green needed anything."

"I'm good," Tony answered, oblivious to her hint that she wanted him to move. "Haven't heard from Bruce since I sent him to get dressed though. He may have drowned himself in the shower. Not big on parties, apparently. Even small ones."

She nodded. "Excuse me, then, sir."

Finally realizing he'd been standing directly in her way, Tony moved aside to let her pass and then headed into the living room. The furniture had been rearranged so that there was a table dedicated to chips and drinks, and the chairs were arranged casually around it. The TV was on, but it was silent. All in all, everything looked like it would be pretty cozy for a party of six or seven people.

Unaccustomed to being early (even for a party in his own house), Tony turned in a circle in the middle of the room, at a loss, and then turned the stereo on, trusting JARVIS to take care of maintaining a party-appropriate mix.

Then, saving Tony from more awkward lingering in his own living room, the buzzer went off, indicating there was someone at the gate.

For once thankful for someone interrupting him, Tony bounded to the door. A quick look at the feed from the security camera showed it was Rhodey. Tony pressed the button for the intercom. "What?"

"Tony, open the damn gate. Why doesn't my code work?"

Whoops. Tony had reset the codes in the last few days...and had neglected to give Rhodey the new one. "Uh, sorry about that. I changed the code." He pressed the button to open the gate and then went back to aimlessly circling the living room, snacking on chips and pouring himself a drink.

A few minutes later, Tony heard the front door open and close, and then Rhodey came into the room. Tony turned to greet him. "Rhodey!"

Much more reserved, Rhodey replied, "Tony." Then, quietly, "Where is he?"

"Where's who?" Tony asked, taking a sip of his scotch.

"You know who," Rhodey said.

"Voldemort isn't invited," Tony pointed out, knowing exactly what Rhodey was asking and refusing to play along. Honestly, it wasn't like Bruce was going to come stomping down the stairs in full-on green mode or something. "I kinda expected you not to be a dick about this."

Rhodey sighed. "Sorry. It's just, what I read in Ross's notes...not reassuring."

"Bruce is cool," Tony stated, acutely aware of how he was echoing the conversation he'd had with Bruce about Rhodey. "I mean, he's put up with me for days and nothing's happened, right?"

"Good point," Rhodey said. And then, miraculously, he dropped the subject. "Is Pepper coming tonight?"

The two of them chatted for another fifteen or twenty minutes, mostly going over what Tony and Bruce had been working on (Rhodey was glad to hear about the new element, and annoyed at Tony for having been dying in secret) and what, if anything, Rhodey could do about the military's proposed plans for Tony's tech.

Tony was just getting reasonably worked up about this particular point ("What? They can't just add _Hammer Tech _to _my stuff_, that's like letting playing bad nineties pop during a Mozart symphony, what the hell?") when Bruce and Natalie finally made their way downstairs.

Bruce, Tony was pleased to note, looked nothing at all like a green rage monster. And Natalie had taken a few moments to get cleaned up, and she was back up to 'drop dead gorgeous' from her previous 'stunning.'

It just wasn't _fair._

Being a good host, though, Tony only ogled her for a moment before standing up and saying, "Natalie, let me introduce you to Colonel James Rhodes. You can call him Rhodey. Or platypus. Rhodey, this is my new assistant, Natalie Rushman."

Rhodey stood and offered his hand. "Ms. Rushman."

"Colonel," Natalie said, taking his hand. "Please, call me Natalie."

Rhodey smiled. "Jim. And _not _platypus, I don't even know where he got that."

Tony rolled his eyes at the two of them, and then dragged Bruce over from where he was literally standing in the corner. "And this is Dr. Bruce, uh, Green. My new roommate and fellow element-inventor. Also, it's his birthday."

Bruce offered his hand, and Rhodey took it without any hesitation, even as he raised an eyebrow at what he knew was a fake name.

Introductions out of the way, the four of them chatted about the weather, about how Bruce liked living with Tony, and a few other safe subjects. Natalie, as seemed to be her natural talent, immediately hit it off with Rhodey, so the conversation slowly became less awkward, even as Bruce was (Tony could tell) doing his best to blend into the walls.

A bit after 7:00, Happy and Pepper showed up and there were more introductions. Pepper took one look at Bruce and got that expression on her face that Tony was so well acquainted with—the 'I need to fix this' look. The look that heralded mothering of epic proportions. Still, for the moment, she just shook his hand and wished him a happy birthday. Then everyone tucked into the food.

As far as social gatherings went, this one was pretty tame. Tony didn't get roaringly drunk, sticking to water and soda after his first scotch. Conversation was polite, and while Bruce was quiet, he seemed to be loosening up. In particular, he and Pepper seemed to get along well, and soon Natalie joined in their conversation and Tony _knew _they were talking about him.

So Tony took the opportunity to pull Happy and Rhodey aside and talk about security options. He managed to fill Happy in enough to cover the basics, without revealing exactly who Tony had invited to live with him and why SHIELD might be after him.

After all, Tony had totally pissed off the government enough for them to want to keep an eye on him. It was completely believable. And as far as Happy was concerned, Bruce was just Tony's new BFF. Nothing interesting there, except for the fact that Tony didn't have friends.

Rhodey rolled his eyes through Tony's explanation but offered a few pointers, including sweeping for bugs. "If agents are on your property," he pointed out, "Then they can probably get into the house."

Happy seemed annoyed at the implication, and Tony didn't _like _the implication, but he nodded, mentally kicking himself for not thinking of that on his own. "Good point. I'll get on that tomorrow." Yet another obstacle between him and his new suit. That was definitely _not_ a suit. Oh well, this had to be done.

The three of them talked a bit more, until it occurred to Tony that it was definitely time for cake. He gestured for Natalie, who immediately figured out what he wanted and went to get the cake and the things to cut it with. Thinking vaguely of finding out what she, Pep, and Bruce had been talking about (and intending to hide his intentions by being 'helpful') Tony followed her to the kitchen.

"So, seems like Bruce is having a good time, right?" Tony asked, looking around in his cabinets for plates. He had to have some _somewhere_.

Natalie nodded. "Yes, sir. He was nervous earlier, but he and Ms. Potts seem to get along well."

"Pep likes the hopeless cases," Tony observed, finally locating the plates and pulling out a stack triumphantly. "And Bruce has that helpless vibe about him."

"Not really," Natalie disagreed, grabbing the silverware and...stack of plates she'd laid out earlier. She didn't offer anything else, though, leaving Tony wondering why she'd disagreed. Probably just for the sake of disagreeing with him. He set his useless plates down and grabbed the cake instead, nodding to Natalie, and the two of them went back into the living room.

When they'd left, there had been a pretty steady flow of conversation, but entering the room, Tony could hear that it was now dead silent, save for the music playing in the background.

_That _wasn't good. Dead silence was _never _good. Tony set the cake down on a convenient end table and then stepped around Natalie, who'd stopped in the doorway.

When he got around her, he saw why she'd stopped.

Bruce and Rhodey were standing on opposite sides of the snack table, holding paper plates, and both of them were looking with horrified expressions at Bruce's hand.

The others had noticed their frozen state and stopped conversing to observe them, wondering what was wrong.

Tony figured he'd break the silence. "Uh, what's up, guys?"

Bruce looked up at him, then at his right hand. In a strained voice, he said, "I got a paper cut."

"And he's bleeding," Rhodey added.

Pepper stood up immediately. "There's a first-aid kit in the kitchen, it's okay—"

"No!" Tony, Bruce, and Rhodey shouted in unison.

Tony remembered _exactly _what the SHIELD file had said about Bruce's blood. About what it could do, even in minute quantities.

_Shit_, Tony thought to himself. _What're the damn odds? Who gets a paper cut from a paper plate? _ And then, _Good going, Stark. Forgot about that little detail, didn't you? _It was true. He (and Bruce, he suspected) had been more focused on the bigger problem that he'd forgotten that in addition to occasionally turning into a large, green rage monster, Bruce was also a walking biohazard.

Well, now all they could do was deal with it. Tony took a breath and then looked at Bruce. "What do you need?"

Bruce gave a harsh laugh. "Um, a paper towel or something. And biohazardous waste disposal?"

Natalie stepped around Tony, grabbing a stack of napkins and offering them to Bruce, who took one and wrapped it around his right thumb. Natalie then turned to Tony. "Biohazardous waste disposal?"

Pepper stepped in, asking no questions, just a model of efficiency. "Tony keeps that in his workshop; it's picked up once a week." She nodded to Bruce. "Come on, I'll show you where."

Tony took a moment to reflect on their luck that he _had _a place for biohazardous waste.

Bruce hesitated. Visibly. Tony prompted him, "It's okay. It's fine." Sure, he hadn't really been prepared for this, but they could make it work.

"There might be blood on the table," Bruce pointed out, looking down. "Or, or anywhere. It's not safe."

Tony nodded. "Everyone, then. Downstairs." They'd have to comb through the room with an ultraviolet light later or something. Just not right now.

Without commenting, everyone obeyed.

Tony knew that their lack of questions wasn't going to last forever.

Probably not even five more minutes.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who's been reading/following/favoriting/reviewing. There's been a lot of new people heading this way, and that's awesome.**

**I'm aiming for weekly updates at this point, which seems to be working out pretty well.**

**Please review; if you do, I'll be forever in your debt.**


	8. The Worst Party Guests Ever

**Thanks to my beta, irite, for making sure my characterization is all right, among many other things.**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

Bruce had registered the sudden, sharp pain in his finger with the kind of grim resignation that most people reserve for decidedly more grievous injuries.

_Guess that's it, then_.

_It was fun while it lasted._

Still, resigned as he was, he still couldn't stop himself from staring in horror at the single drop of blood that welled up from the tiny cut and slowly ran down his finger towards his palm. For most people, this would be nothing. They might not even notice it. For him, though, and for everyone else in the house...this could easily become a catastrophe.

This situation was something that Jim—'Rhodey,' as Tony doggedly insisted on calling him—seemed to understand, if his expression was anything to go by. That wasn't surprising; the unique properties of Bruce's blood were well documented in Ross's notes. Which Jim had undoubtedly gone through when he'd been digging for info for Tony.

For a moment, Bruce wondered what it must be like for normal people, who couldn't be introduced to one another via secret government files. He thought it might be nice.

Then, Tony was asking what was wrong, and Bruce realized the room had gone silent while he'd been pondering.

"I got a paper cut," Bruce said in response to Tony's query. That didn't explain the situation very well, but Tony would know what Bruce was talking about, and maybe they wouldn't have to involve anyone else.

"And he's bleeding," Jim added, voice dark.

Pepper immediately jumped up to help, but Bruce didn't want her within ten miles of his blood (_Doesn't that mean within ten miles of _you_?_), so he stopped her with a, "No!"

Okay, he _might _have yelled it. But that was okay; Tony and Jim did the same. Louder, even.

"What do you need?" Tony asked, for once completely serious and down to business.

There were many things that Bruce needed at the moment. At the top of his list was a time machine so he could go back and put a stop to this stupid idea before it had even gotten off the ground. Of course, he knew he couldn't have—saying 'no' wasn't exactly on his list of favorite activities, and saying 'no' to Tony was, as far as Bruce had seen, bordering on the impossible. Also, time machines weren't (at least as far as he knew) a thing, so Bruce settled on something that might actually be useful. "Um, a paper towel or something. And biohazardous waste disposal?" He thought Tony probably had that somewhere, since he tended to do a fair amount of experimenting on his own body, and that created biological waste. And he seemed to have everything else, besides.

Natalie stepped forward and handed him some napkins, which Bruce took carefully and wrapped around the tiny cut on his finger. Then she asked Tony, "Biohazardous waste disposal?"

Pepper stepped in again. "Tony keeps that in his workshop; it's picked up once a week." Then, to Bruce she said, "Come on, I'll show you where."

Bruce didn't want to endanger her any more than he already had, so he hesitated.

Tony said, the epitome of calm collectedness, "It's okay. It's fine."

It _wasn't, _though. Bruce looked down. "There might be blood on the table. Or, or anywhere. It's not safe." And it _wouldn't _be, as long as he stayed here.

Tony nodded, still calm. Not freaking out anywhere near as much as he should be, Bruce thought. "Everyone, then. Downstairs."

So that's how Bruce found himself herded down to Tony's workshop, doing his best not to touch anyone or anything, wishing very much that he could just disappear. Because wasn't this what was going to keep happening? He'd make an attempt at having a normal life and then be forcibly reminded that it just wasn't going to happen. And he knew he'd been stupid, thinking he could ever have anything approximating a normal life, and he knew he should have left the second he and Tony had finished the new element, but he hadn't and—

"Here," Tony interrupted Bruce's angsting, pulling a bin marked 'biohazard' out from behind some machinery. He then went to his desk and pulled a first aid kit out of a drawer. Tony turned the small box over in his hands a few times, evidently trying to figure out how to open it.

Pepper gave a small, aggravated sigh and took the kit from him and opened it, pulling out a bandaid and approaching Bruce.

Bruce took a hasty step back. "Uh..."

"Chill out, dude," Tony said, exasperated, looking between Pepper, Happy, and Natalie. All three of them looked, to some extent, confused and a bit apprehensive. Which was probably a constant when dealing with Tony, but that did little to soothe Bruce's nerves.

Still, he took the bandaid Pepper was offering, careful not to touch her, and he tossed the napkin he'd been holding over his finger into the biohazardous waste container before applying the bandaid to his injured finger and throwing the packaging from it in after the napkin. His next urge was to wash his hands in some sort of biohazard-safe sink, but he didn't think Tony had one of those. Most non-medical establishments didn't.

Still, it was worth asking. "I need to wash my hands...?"

Tony walked across the room to the sink in the corner and Bruce followed. Tony turned the water on for him, and Bruce carefully washed his hands, doing his best not to imagine what even minute traces of his blood might do to the nearby marine life.

The party guests had remained more or less silent through this, but now that Bruce had turned around and straightened up to face them again, Pepper demanded, "Tony, what's going on?"

Well, the awkward silence couldn't last forever, could it?

Bruce looked over at Tony, who was chewing his bottom lip and considering his guests. Bruce didn't want these people to know what he was—it was dangerous. For him, yeah, but for them, too. People who knew about him...they ended up mixed up in all kinds of things that they didn't deserve to be. And these people _really_ didn't deserve the kind of chaos that came with knowing about Bruce. But at the same time, it didn't seem fair to pull this kind of stunt and then leave them wondering what the hell had happened.

The best option, given all of that, was to tell them. And then go, and quickly. So he shrugged at Tony and said, "You can tell them." After all, the one person who had the potential to be a problem—Jim—already knew everything. Telling the rest of them couldn't really hurt. At least, telling them enough of it.

Tony frowned. "You sure?"

Bruce answered honestly, "No. But, uh. I think you kinda have to."

"Tony?" Pepper questioned again, more forcefully this time.

Behind her, Happy shifted his weight uncomfortably. "What's up, boss?"

Natalie leaned against Tony's desk, crossing her arms over her chest.

Still, Tony didn't say anything. Finally, Jim prodded, "Tony. Come on."

Tony sighed enormously. With one last glance at Bruce, Tony began, "So, uh. Bruce here has a, uh, condition."

_'Condition.' That's a nice way to put it._

"A condition?" Pepper repeated, frowning in concern. "Is he...is he okay?" She looked at Bruce. "Are you okay?"

Bruce appreciated her concern, and also that she was talking to him like he was a person.

He wondered if that would last, once she knew what he was.

Tony hesitated before plowing ahead. "He's, uh, fine. Really. It's just, there's a small issue with his blood, where it's, um—"

"Poisonous," Bruce supplied, averting his eyes and saving Tony from what was obviously an uncomfortable situation. "It's...toxic." And maybe if they stayed in this vein, they wouldn't have to disclose _everything_. Lying wasn't something Bruce was big on, but the less these people knew, the better, the _safer_ it was for them.

Their explanation so far might have been enough information for most people, but these weren't 'most people.' These were, on the whole, very smart people. Too smart.

Natalie asked, tucking her cell phone into her pocket, "If his blood is toxic, then why isn't it killing him?"

_Because not much can_, Bruce thought to himself darkly. He'd know, after all.

_Now's not the time for that._

No, it really wasn't.

Since he'd decided to take over explaining from Tony (seemed like this should be his awkward situation, his uncomfortable burden to bear; he wouldn't foist this off on someone else), Bruce answered her. "It's because my anatomy is significantly, uh, altered. At the cellular level. I'm not exactly...human. So it's not toxic to me."

Natalie nodded, seemingly satisfied. And entirely at ease. Which was...odd. Shouldn't she think this was a _little _weird?

Pepper, though, was not nearly so sanguine about this revelation. "Not _human?_ What does that even _mean_?"

Bruce didn't really want to get into a lecture in advanced genetics and biochemistry, didn't want to talk about the changes the accident had wrought on his physiology, so he just shrugged awkwardly. "I'm not, uh. I can't really explain it. But I'm not human."

"What are you, then?" Pepper's voice was becoming noticeably higher in pitch, which was worrying, but Tony seemed to think this was no cause for concern. He seemed more or less relaxed, except for the small frown on his face, yet Bruce got the impression that for once, Tony had no idea what he was supposed to be doing.

Fair enough. Bruce didn't really know what he was supposed to be doing, either. But if he was endangering them, the least he could do was answer all their questions before running for the hills.

But then, there were some questions that weren't that simple to answer. And unfortunately, 'what are you, then?' was one of them.

Bruce was trying to figure out a way to respond when Pepper's eyes suddenly widened and she apologized, "I'm sorry, that was insensitive."

And that...that did it. Bruce couldn't help it; he started to laugh. Mostly from surprise, because no one, _not one single person_, had ever cared about whether or not their questions about the Other Guy were intrusive or rude. That was usually their last concern, about fifty-seven items behind such things as 'are you going to kill me' and 'how can I kill you?'

Bruce's laughter did not last long—one or two solid chuckles' worth—and then he sobered. Then _he _apologized, "Sorry. It's just, uh, that's not something I've heard before."

No one said anything, and so Bruce answered Pepper's earlier question. "I'm not really sure what I am, exactly. I haven't had much of a chance to do research yet." _Because I've been on the run from the government for the last five years or so._

Pepper nodded slowly. She still seemed somewhat nonplussed, but was professional enough to roll with it. Bruce supposed that, having been Tony's assistant, and then the CEO of Stark Industries, she had a lot of experience just rolling with things.

Happy spoke up, now, though, with another hard-to-answer question. "Is this going to be an issue?" Like Pepper, he seemed to be rolling with it, responding to this situation professionally, from the standpoint of someone charged with Tony's security. Which was impressive, because the response Bruce usually got to his 'condition' was more 'hostile' than 'professional.' Especially from the security types.

Their overall calm response made Bruce more inclined towards disclosure. "It...might be. There's..."

Well, maybe this was going to be harder than he thought.

Jim picked up for him, though. "There are a few parties interested in his condition. One of them is military. General Thaddeus Ross. And he's been kind of a dick about the whole thing."

Bruce shot him a grateful look, both for stepping in and for his opinion on Ross.

"Okay..." Happy hedged. "So what are we talking, here?"

"Oh, you know," Tony said. "Full military assault, that sort of thing. No big deal."

Everyone, including Bruce, glared at him, so Tony clarified, "Look, it's really not. Ross is in Afghanistan. He's not a concern. Right now, all we need to worry about is SHIELD—" He cut himself off, looking guiltily at Bruce. "Was I not supposed to mention that?"

Bruce sighed. They hadn't actually discussed what they were going to disclose, and were mostly relying on each other to feel for boundaries. But in for a penny, in for a pound. Or the American equivalent, anyway. "No, it's fine." He paused, then added, "I mean, do they," he nodded at the assembled guests, "Know about SHIELD?"

Tony shrugged. "More or less? Pepper does, anyway. Rhodey?" Jim nodded with a half-shrug, so Tony turned to Natalie and Happy, explaining, "They're like the FBI or something, but more shady and hush-hush. And they deal with the _really _weird shit going on in the world."

That was about as astute a summary as Bruce could hope for.

Natalie raised an eyebrow. "I see. And what's your concern regarding them?"

For how weird this whole situation was, she was _awfully _calm.

"Not sure," Tony answered breezily. "But we think they're keeping an eye on things. They sent Bruce here to help me out with...something, and we think they're not too happy that he decided to stay."

"Tony!" Pepper exclaimed, exasperated. "Are you saying that you're...you're...harboring a fugitive?" She looked at Bruce. "No offense, Dr. Green, it's not your fault."

Now seemed as good a time as any to admit, "It's Banner, actually. Bruce Banner." And if only she knew how much this _was _his fault.

Pepper was opening her mouth to respond to that when the doorbell rang.

"Oh, what the hell?" Tony grumbled. "Everyone I want in my house is here already. And how'd they get past the gate?"

The doorbell rang again, somehow more insistent.

Natalie straightened up. "Sir, should I...?"

"Yeah," Tony answered.

Natalie turned and headed upstairs.

In her absence, Pepper approached Bruce. "Dr. Banner—"

"Bruce," he corrected. He really wasn't in the mood to be 'Doctor' anybody, at the moment. In fact, he was in the mood to be completely anonymous. And preferably as far away from here as he could manage.

"Bruce," Pepper started again. "Is this...are you okay?"

Again, not at all what he'd been expecting. He expected rejection and fear and disgust, but no one here was raising their metaphorical pitchfork or a lynch mob. Although most of them seemed a little bit uneasy—Happy, especially—none of them had gone screaming for the hills, or had even gotten really worked up. Even the whole 'oh yeah, I'm on every government watch list ever' thing didn't seem to faze them.

It was...weird. Really weird. But kind of nice, too, and Bruce was starting to get why Tony trusted these people so implicitly. Must be nice.

Bruce answered honestly. "I'm fine." He indicated his injured finger. "I mean, aside from being, uh, hazardous." _And liable to change into a giant green rage monster...but you don't know that, do you?_

"Do you need anything? If you—"

"Pep," Tony interrupted, "He's fine. We're fine. We're handling this, and—what the hell are _you _doing here?"

Tony was looking towards the stairs, and Bruce followed his gaze. Natalie had just re-entered the workshop, accompanied by one of the agents from SHIELD that Bruce had met during his brief sojourn at their base. Coulson, if Bruce remembered correctly.

Seeing the agent caused Bruce's heart to kick up a notch, and he focused in on his breathing. Now was the time to stay calm, if there'd ever been such a time before. It wouldn't do any good to lose it in front of a government official. _That _always went _so_ well.

Apparently, Tony had met Coulson at some point, too, if his exceptionally rude greeting was anything to go by.

"Mr. Stark," the agent replied evenly. He nodded at Pepper. "Ms. Potts." To the others, he said, "Agent Phil Coulson, of SHIELD. We've had reports of an incident on the property, and—"

"Uh," Tony interrupted, "How?"

"Excuse me?" Coulson replied, removing his sunglasses (that he shouldn't have needed—it was after 9:00 PM in December, it had been dark for hours).

"How did you get 'reports' of an 'incident' here?"

"We have our ways," Coulson said dismissively. "Now," he looked around until his eyes alighted on Bruce, "Dr. Banner. Is everything under control?"

Tony stepped in between Bruce and Coulson, bristling. "Hold on. I'm not buying this 'we have our ways' bullshit. Either be honest or get the hell out of here."

Coulson sighed, and Bruce suddenly got the same sense of long-suffering that Pepper exuded, like humoring Tony wasn't necessarily in Coulson's best interests, but doing so would make things much, much easier. "Mr. Stark, we have agents surveilling your property—"

"Agent Coulson—" Natalie started to interrupt.

But Tony beat her to it. "Ha! I knew it! Bruce thought someone was watching him this afternoon. Was that one of your goons?"

Agent Coulson shrugged. "Maybe."

"And I bet you have this place bugged, too," Tony mused.

Coulson gave a small half-smile. "'Bugged.' You could say that."

Which, Bruce thought, was a strange thing to say. But he decided to step in before Tony could antagonize the SHIELD agent any further. "Everything's fine. I just...had a paper cut."

Coulson frowned, then looked around at the other people in the workshop. "And you've informed all of these people of the situation?"

Bruce nodded, and Coulson's frown deepened. "I'm going to need to debrief everyone—"

"I think we've already done that," Tony insisted.

"Agent Coulson," Pepper stepped in. "I think we're okay. None of us were harmed. Dr. Banner, er, Bruce told us what's going on, and I think if we're all careful, it's just—"

"What Pepper's saying," Tony stepped in, "Is that we've got this. Now, I'd appreciate it if you'd get your agents off my property and leave us the hell alone."

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen, Stark," Coulson said. "If Dr. Banner is going to be staying here, then more security is in order—"

This time, Bruce interrupted. "I'm not, though." At Tony's surprised look, Bruce clarified, "What happened tonight...I can't risk that happening again. Or anything...else."

Unsurprisingly, Tony took issue with this declaration. "Bullshit, Banner! We can handle this."

As...nice, and understanding, and calm as all of these people had been throughout this incident, Bruce had his doubts about that. "Maybe. But you shouldn't _have _to handle it. It's not your problem."

Tony looked at Pepper. "Does this bother you?"

She shook her head, and Tony turned to Happy. "You?"

"Not really, no." Then, frankly, "It's not much weirder than any of the other stuff you're mixed up in."

"Fair enough," Tony acknowledged. Then, to Jim, "What about you, platypus? Natalie? Is this too weird for you to handle?"

"Hardly," Jim answered. "Been dealing with you for so long that _nothing's _too weird to handle."

Natalie just shook her head, posture stiff, frowning.

"Then I think you should let us decide what we want to handle," Tony said to Bruce. "You're staying." To Coulson, he added, "But you can shove your extra security."

"Tony..." Bruce tried again.

"Just go with it," Jim advised him.

And that really seemed to be how _everyone _dealt with Tony, so Bruce closed his mouth, flattening his lips into a thin, grumpy line.

After a moment, Coulson began again. "You're going to need more security—" seeing that Tony was about to interrupt him _again_, Coulson just spoke louder, "Both to keep an eye on Dr. Banner _and _to protect him from other interested parties. We can keep Ross off your trail, Dr. Banner. We have been. We have him assigned indefinitely in Afghanistan for _your _benefit."

This was news. Bruce had assumed SHIELD had been working _with _Ross, since they were both government. Why would SHIELD be _protecting _him?

Answering the unspoken question, Coulson went on, "We want you here. We feel that your collaboration with Mr. Stark is, at this time, in the best interests of this country's national security—"

"Collaboration on _what_?" Tony demanded, just as Pepper raised an eyebrow and asked, "National security, Agent Coulson? What exactly do you mean?"

"I'm not authorized to say, specifically," he deflected both of their questions. "But we are willing to make sure things keep going smoothly for you. Doing so requires we have eyes and ears on the situation at all times, however."

Tony made a displeased face. "So, you're going to make sure a platoon doesn't come marching down the road, but only if we play nice? And what's this bullshit about watching Bruce? He's not—"

"SHIELD currently holds that Dr. Banner is dangerous," Coulson stated flatly. Then, patiently, he added, "You don't need to play nice. It would just be a lot easier if you did."

Tony's frown only deepened, but Bruce thought that while this wasn't _ideal_, this was a whole lot better than it could be. Sure, SHIELD wanted him here, apparently, which meant they'd been manipulating him. But better here than being a rat in a lab somewhere, or in a cage. Here, he was relatively free. And if they were powerful enough to keep Ross away? He'd go with 'playing nice' "I think...I think that sounds okay."

With a surprised expression, Tony turned to him. "What? You sure? 'Cause I think this _sucks_."

He would, though, Bruce supposed. He had invited Bruce to stay because he'd wanted to annoy SHIELD, only to find out that it was what SHIELD had wanted all along. Tony didn't seem like the type to take well to being played. And Bruce knew that Tony didn't like the government, didn't like them poking around in his business. Hated it, in fact.

Bruce didn't like it, either, but compared to the alternative?

What was that saying? Better the devil you know?

Just then, Coulson's phone rang. He answered with an efficient, "Coulson." Then: "I have the situation under control. You can come down." He ended the call, tucking his phone back into his pocket.

Tony was just revving up, probably to complain about Coulson inviting people into his workshop, when a man came down the stairs. He was about Bruce and Tony's height, a bit taller maybe, and blonde...and Tony apparently recognized him instantly.

"This is bullshit!" Tony exclaimed. "What the hell—you're a _delivery driver_, you work for Ty's Thai, I _saw _you—"

Coulson interrupted Tony's ranting. "This is Agent Clint Barton, also of SHIELD. He's been leading a team charged with surveilling your house and property for the last several days."

Barton was, Bruce noted, carrying what looked like a very high-powered rifle. The sight of which caused Bruce's breath to catch in his chest.

_Calm, Banner. Stay calm._

"That delivery driver gig sucked," Barton groused, learning the gun against a wall. "I hate going undercover." He held out his hand to Tony, who ignored it in favor of casting an accusing look at Natalie.

_What the hell?_

"You know him," Tony growled. "When he showed up a couple of days ago, you recognized him." Natalie just stared at him, lips pursed, so Tony turned to Coulson. "Is there anything _else _you want to tell me? Maybe about my new assistant?"

Barton wisely backed up a few steps to stand next to Coulson, arms crossed over his chest.

This was all news to Bruce. Tony hadn't mentioned anything about Natalie and a delivery guy. So he looked attentively at Coulson as well, wanting to hear every word of this.

Coulson, for his part, was ignoring them in favor of Natalie, who shrugged. "Might as well tell them, Coulson."

This apparently confirmed Tony's suspicion, given the thunderous expression that was passing over his face. An expression that only darkened as Coulson stated, "This is Natasha Romanoff, also of SHIELD."

Pepper covered her mouth, shocked. "But I...I did a background check. She checked out."

Coulson nodded. "We were very thorough."

Tony abruptly turned and stalked silently out of the workshop.

Bruce looked after him for a minute, wondering what he should do, or if anything he _could_ do would possibly help this screwed up situation. Then he considered following Tony, before his increasing heart rate became a serious, serious problem. But he stayed, frozen, and after a moment, Pepper asked, "Okay. What does this mean?"

Coulson sighed. "We needed eyes on Banner. It seemed easiest to send someone in undercover. Stark needed an assistant. So we got him one."

"And now?" Pepper asked. "Doesn't seem to me like the undercover thing worked out."

Coulson shrugged. "Agent Romanoff can stay on as Stark's assistant, at least until you can find him a new one—"

"Yeah, that's not gonna work," Tony declared, jogging back into the workshop, now holding a bottle of scotch. "I want her out of here yesterday." He turned to Natalie and spat, "I should have known you were too good to be true. Jesus. _Latin_. No one speaks Latin."

Natalie—_no, Agent Romanoff_—frowned. "Stark, we needed to watch Banner, it's not like we were trying to antagonize you personally."

"Oh, right," Tony snarked, taking a generous swig from his bottle. "How silly of me to feel _persecuted _here."

Pepper gave Tony a disapproving look. "Tony, they're just trying to do their job."

"Yeah?" Tony scoffed. "Their 'job' entails violating my privacy? Sneaking around?" He jutted his chin at Barton and his rifle. "Threatening my friends? And I'm supposed to feel okay about this?"

It was a good point, Bruce thought. He said as much, willing his rising emotion out of his voice.

He evidently did not succeed. "Let's all stay calm," Romanoff advised, glancing at him.

That, Bruce thought, was bullshit. Because he was staying calm. He was a lot calmer than Tony, who was going red in the face and practically guzzling booze. He was calmer than Romanoff or Barton, who were both shooting him nervous glances like he was going to explode at any second. Come on, give him _some_ credit, he knew how to keep calm. Well, most of the time, anyway.

"Look," Coulson stated. "If Banner is going to stay here, we need eyes on him. If Banner stays, Romanoff stays and Barton stays. That's our policy on this matter."

Tony frowned, and Bruce decided to offer again, "I can go. Really." Because Tony had wanted him here to annoy the government. If that wasn't in the cards anymore, why should he stay? It was just going to be an inconvenience—more of one than it had been already—and Tony should get the chance to have his life go back to normal.

"Jesus, Bruce, how many times are we going to go over this? Besides," and Tony made an attempt at a smile, "National security is at stake now. Apparently. You have to stay." He glanced at Coulson, idly sipping his scotch. "Romanoff would still be my assistant? She signed a contract, you know."

Coulson sighed. "Until you can find a new assistant, yes. Agent Romanoff agreed to that as part of this assignment."

Tony raised an eyebrow, looking at Romanoff with an expression that could only be interpreted as 'I'm going to give you hell.' "And Agent Delivery Boy, here, what about him?"

"Barton and his team will remain on the premises, but out of sight."

Tony, Bruce could tell, was considering this carefully. As in, actually considering it at all before acting, which was way more effort than he put into most things. After a moment, he gave a terse, "Fine. I keep the physicist and the hot assistant." He paused, then asked, "Is my house bugged?"

Coulson nodded. "They were installed a couple of days ago, to monitor the property while Agent Romanoff was off site."

"I want those gone," Tony demanded.

Coulson shook his head. "Mr. Stark—"

"Get rid of them or I will. And I won't be gentle."

"Fine," Coulson agreed with a sigh. "Anything else?"

Tony considered for a moment. "Nope. Now get out." He nodded at Barton. "You too, delivery boy."

Coulson straightened his suit jacket. "Of course, Mr. Stark." Then, stiffly, "Thank you for your cooperation."

The pair of them headed back upstairs. Romanoff made a move to follow, but Tony stopped her. "Hold on, honey. We still haven't had cake."

At 'honey,' Romanoff had narrowed her eyes dangerously, but she didn't say anything. She also didn't go for the cake, though, opting to cross her arms across her chest and glare.

Which was fine. Bruce, personally, had never wanted cake less in his life. The others apparently felt the same way, given their uneasy glances and awkward shuffling.

"Tony," Rhodey interjected. "I don't really think this is the time."

"No?" Tony asked, taking another slug from his bottle. "She's still my assistant. And when's it not time for cake?"

"Uh, when you just found out you've been harboring a government agent? When your new roomie almost caused some kind of 'incident?'" He turned to Bruce, "No offense, Banner."

Bruce waved a dismissive hand (his non-injured one, carefully). He was beyond taking offense. Too much had happened in the last half an hour for him to do more than let it wash over him at this point.

"Maybe we should call it a night," Pepper suggested gently, stepping forward to take Tony's arm. To Bruce, she said, "Bruce, it's been really good to meet you." She reached out for his hand.

Politeness dictated that he take it, but it had been his right hand that had been injured earlier, and he didn't want to risk killing this woman, not after she'd been so...nice. So he offered a smile, but refrained from taking her hand, and said, "I'm, uh, sorry. But," he gestured at the bandaid on his finger, "Probably better not to...you know. Touch."

She stepped forward and took his left hand anyway. "Bruce. I hope to see you again, soon." She returned to Tony's side and tugged him towards the stairs. As she passed Jim, she murmured her goodbyes, and then she and Tony were gone.

Happy shuffled his feet awkwardly for a minute before he muttered something about heading home for the night and followed them.

That left Bruce, Jim, and Romanoff. Jim looked Romanoff over. "So...secret agent, huh?"

Romanoff shook her head and stalked past them, also heading upstairs.

Jim looked at Bruce. "Do you have _any _idea what the hell just happened?"

_That _Bruce could answer easily. "Nope."

Then he, too, went upstairs, deciding it was way, way past time for bed.

Jim, he figured, could let himself out.

* * *

The next morning, Bruce woke up later than he'd anticipated, given how early he'd gone to bed.

When he went downstairs, Romanoff wasn't in the kitchen, but she'd left breakfast in the refrigerator. So she really was staying on as Tony's assistant, at least for a while.

Bruce didn't envy her. At all. Tony seemed _quite_ angry.

Still, he ate his breakfast (fruit salad of some variety) before he headed down to Tony's workshop.

Tony was seated at his desk, furiously typing away at something. When he saw Bruce, he turned his music down and called a cheery, "Morning, sunshine!"

Bruce wondered briefly if the previous night had just been a very, very bad dream, but then he got a closer look at what Tony was doing and knew that was not the case.

"Is this...are those SHIELD's servers?" Bruce asked past the lump in his throat, staring at the screens in front of him.

"Sure are!" Tony answered, equally as manically cheerful as before. "Look, I figured they want you here, so they're not going to risk anything by sending in someone to stop me, if they even notice I'm in. You're safe. Way I see it, they're asking for it, anyway. Their security _sucks_."

He paused, then said with a grin, "You will not _believe _the shit they're doing."

* * *

**Thanks for reading! And following/favoriting. And reviewing. **

**So, 5000 words of dialogue. That was a little rough. But, hey, things are moving along, right?**

**Please review. I'll be happy if you do.**


	9. Back in Business

**Thanks to my beta, irite, for continued beta excellence.**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

The morning after Bruce's birthday party, Tony was busy.

He got up early. Pre-dawn, actually. He had things to do, so he couldn't waste his time by sleeping.

This whole early morning thing was actually getting easier, the more he did it. Or he was slowly losing touch with reality. Either way, he was actually pretty cheerful when he yanked himself out of bed at 6:00 AM.

At least, as cheerful as he could manage, given what he'd learned the previous night.

As it turned out, his new assistant was a SHIELD agent. And she'd been spying on him for days. Well, spying on Bruce, really, but that entailed spying on him, too. It sucked. But really, it wasn't the worst betrayal in his life. That award still went to Obie, so, yeah. Comparatively, this wasn't so bad. Romanoff hadn't tried to kill him, for example.

Tony wondered what had happened to his standards for 'not so bad.'

He also wondered what had happened to his own scruples. He felt strongly that everyone on the federal government's payroll could go fuck themselves. Had something of a vendetta going against them, actually, since they'd seen fit to rob him of his property. Had seen fit to try to take his identity, really, if it came down to it. Yet despite that, now he was more or less playing host to a group of secret agents. Had pretty much invited them to stick around, since that was the only way they were going to leave Bruce alone.

There had been a moment last night—fleeting, yes, but _there_—when he'd considered sending Bruce packing. Tony had been pissed off about this latest invasion of his privacy, pissed off about being played, furious with himself that he hadn't noticed what was going on. He wanted, in that moment, nothing more than to get rid of people who'd done this, and if that meant kicking Bruce out, too, well. Fine.

But that had only lasted a moment. That was how long it took for him to realize that yes, he'd been played. But so had Pepper. And Happy. And most of all, Bruce. Bruce had been manipulated into coming here. The very fact that SHIELD felt that they could make these kinds of decisions on Bruce's behalf was vaguely threatening in and of itself. So sure, Tony was pissed, but if anyone really had a right to be pissed, it was Bruce.

And he wasn't going to get angry about this. Since he didn't get angry about anything. Apparently _couldn't_ get angry about anything.

So Tony decided he would get angry in Bruce's stead. And he decided, then, that Bruce was staying. Sure, it was what SHIELD wanted, but at least if Bruce was _here_, he wasn't anywhere else. If Bruce was here, then Tony could still control this situation, at least to some degree. That was important.

Along with deciding that Bruce was staying, Tony had also decided that he wanted to find out what else SHIELD was up to. If they could get an army general reassigned indefinitely to the middle of nowhere (as they claimed to have done with Ross), then what else were they capable of? What else were they hiding? If he was going to be the subject of SHIELD surveillance, Tony thought it was only logical to know what other kinds of stuff they had going on.

Which had been in large part the impetus for his early morning.

He'd gotten out of bed and showered before bounding downstairs a bit before 7:00 for his morning coffee.

It had already been brewing. And Agent Romanoff had been sitting in the kitchen, just like she had been the last few mornings, working on a tablet.

Huh. Sure, she was _supposed _to stick around and do his bidding until he could find a new assistant, but he hadn't actually thought she _would_. Or he'd figured that she'd at least make herself pretty inaccessible, not be waiting in the kitchen for him.

Of course, she no longer looked like 'Natalie Rushman.' Gone were the pencil skirts and high heels of the last few days. They'd been replaced with slacks and sensible shoes. Her hair was tied back and braided, instead of loose like it had been before. Interestingly, none of this in any way affected the whole 'smoking hot' thing, which Tony found interesting, but was smart enough not to comment on.

He was self-destructive, sure, but not downright suicidal. And he suspected she might be a _little _less indulgent when it came to his flirting, now that he knew she was a secret agent or whatever.

So instead of commenting on her new look, Tony greeted Romanoff with a terse, "Good morning, sunshine."

"Stark," she answered evenly. "Your breakfast in is the fridge. I called in a team to clear your living room for blood and radiation; they finished an hour ago." She paused, then added stiffly, "Is there anything else you need?"

There wasn't, really, but he couldn't pass up an opportunity like this. After all, she'd lied to him and spied on him, wasn't he entitled to a little bit of revenge? He thought so, and he intended to take it. "Yeah, actually. I'd like to get my car detailed. There's a place a few miles from here that does a good job; Pep should have the number if you don't."

Romanoff raised an eyebrow. "Really. Which car?"

Wasn't it obvious? "All of them, Agent Romanoff."

She frowned. "You're kidding."

No, he was just testing his limits. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"No. You don't."

"That's 'cause I'm not. Now, the way I figure, that's going to take a really, really long time. So you'd better get on that, huh?"

She narrowed her eyes, and Tony momentarily thought of how she'd taken Happy down her first day here. He swallowed.

But all she did was nod. "Fine." Then, "You should know that we removed all of the bugs as per your request, but your residence is still under surveillance. Our agents don't miss much. Barton in particular..."

Tony shrugged. "Whatever. I'll be in my workshop. See you in ten to twelve hours."

He'd left before she could reply. Tony loved to get the last word.

After that, Tony had made his way down to his workshop and had promptly enlisted JARVIS's assistance with hacking into SHIELD. Well, after he'd locked Romanoff out of the workshop. If she wanted in, she could knock. Or call. Or just...not come in at all.

Anyway, they had invaded his privacy, so he was going to invade theirs. An eye for an eye, right?

That had taken more time than Tony would have liked. Still, it was doable, and he'd just gotten in and started looking around Coulson's files (which were...really weird) when Bruce finally made his way down into Tony's lair. Tony was eager to share his discoveries, but Bruce didn't seem overly impressed with what Tony was doing. In fact, he seemed quite ill at ease.

So Tony reassured him. "Look, I figured they want you here, so they're not going to risk anything by sending in someone to stop me, if they even notice I'm in. You're safe. Way I see it, they're asking for it, anyway. Their security _sucks_." Then, because what he'd seen so far had already piqued his interest, "You will not _believe _the shit they're doing."

Bruce actually looked a little green. And not in a I'm-going-to-smash-everything-you-love kind of way. In a I-might-barf-on-you kind of way.

Tony thought he might prefer the smashing. "Chill out, Bob. This is 100% not a threat to you. I promise. I think SHIELD proved last night that they're not out to get you. I mean, yeah, they sent a guy with a gun—"

Bruce looked a little worse.

"—but he didn't _use _it, did he? No. We're fine. Peachy, even."

"Do you have to antagonize them?" Bruce asked, voice tight with either nausea or worry. Tony couldn't tell which.

"Well, yeah. I do," Tony answered honestly. "They started it."

At that, Bruce cracked a smile. "I guess you're right." He took a breath and let it out slowly. "So. I'm not going to believe what they're doing?"

Tony nodded enthusiastically. "They're doing _everything_. They have people everywhere. Doing a lot of weird shit. I mean, I wouldn't have even believed some of this stuff last week. I was checking up on Coulson, you know, seeing what he's been up to. Check this out. Apparently he was in New Mexico last spring with Agent Delivery Boy, wrangling a guy who is apparently a Norse god." He paused, then divulged the best part. "Barton's codename is 'Hawkeye.' I am going to have _so _much fun with that."

Bruce's eyebrows crept up towards his hairline. "A Norse god? Which one?"

"Thor," Tony answered. Honestly, that was irrelevant compared to the hilarity of Barton's codename. Still, Tony went on, "Apparently, he leveled a small town before beaming off to god knows where. Pun intended. So now SHIELD is working with a pair of physicists to figure out how he did the beam-y thing."

At 'physicists,' Bruce perked up. "Does it say who?"

Tony turned back to his screen and clicked through a few things. "Oh, hey, you might actually know them, they're from Culver. Erik Selvig and Jane Foster."

Bruce looked surprised. "Yeah, I do know them. Well, Selvig, at least. But I haven't really, uh, kept in contact with my old colleagues."

Tony wasn't really listening, though, instead opting to read the file more closely. "So it looks like Thor was having a tiff with his brother."

"Baldur? Hodur?" Bruce asked, eyebrow raised.

"Fuck if I know, Banner," Tony said, eyes scanning the document. "It says the brother in question didn't actually show up, just sent some killer robot to do his bidding. Damn, sounds like something a crazy supervillain would do, who has killer robots?"

"I don't think you and I really get to question the believability of this kind of thing," Bruce observed, gesturing between the two of them. "I mean, you kind of have killer robots. Well, had, at least. And I, uh, have a 'condition.'"

Tony had to admit he had a point. And he didn't necessarily appreciate the reminder. "Fair enough." He pointed to a nearby chair. "Wanna settle in? I could make popcorn."

Bruce shrugged uneasily. "Um, sure." He pulled the chair over and sat down. "About last night—"

Tony did not want to talk about last night. It kind of rankled. "What?"

"Are you okay with all of this?"

"Me? I'm fine." He wasn't, exactly. He was pissed off still, but hacking SHIELD had made him feel a lot better. If he didn't really think too much about the fact that his new roomie necessitated super secret government security, he felt almost normal about the whole thing.

Almost.

Bruce nodded slowly. "If you're sure."

Tony didn't respond to that, just went back to reading the files in front of him.

With a minute sigh, Bruce joined him.

* * *

For the next two weeks, life settled into something approximating a rhythm.

Living with Bruce was...weird. Just over two weeks in, and Tony felt he could say that definitively. It wasn't that _Bruce _was weird. Except, actually, he was. He didn't really care for ear-splittingly loud music, or food that three out of four doctors agreed could lead to a coronary. He actually read the directions when he'd been setting up his lab, and he'd followed all the safety procedures. Tony hadn't even been aware that there _were _safety procedures. Bruce was, Tony suspected, what a normal, mature 'adult' was supposed to be like. Except for the whole rage monster thing. So yeah. Mature adult. He even had a disapproving look that he aimed at Tony no fewer than ten or fifteen times a day, usually after Tony had decided to have liquor for breakfast or to prank call the Air Force or something along those lines.

It was a look with which Tony had become quite familiar.

Christmas and New Year's had passed with little fanfare. Tony had invited Pepper and Rhodey around, and along with Bruce, the four of them had a nice time, snacking on hors d'oeuvres and chatting. Things were pretty normal, actually, considering that all of them were cognizant that they were being surveilled by government agents.

And, well, there was a government agent serving the hors d'oeuvres, too.

Pepper was looking for a new assistant for him, Tony knew, but it wasn't easy to find one. Not with his specific requirements, and not one with enough competency to handle the job. So the awkward situation with Natalie-or-Natasha remained.

She was efficient, sure. She picked up the dry cleaning, scheduled appointments, took care of the shopping, and wasn't (as far as Tony knew, anyway—and he _did _run tests) poisoning their food or anything. Still, she was with SHIELD, and given Tony's new hobby of 'hacking SHIELD,' he did everything he could to keep her out of the house, sending her on missions to all corners of the city. Sometimes even out of state, if he was feeling particularly vindictive or if he wanted to have a little more time to wade through classified government documents.

Romanoff took Tony's 'missions' with surprising good grace. There was a bit of eye rolling and some sighing, sure, but not any more than Pepper had employed during her tenure as Tony's assistant. More ominous was the recurring gleam in Romanoff's eye (that Tony _really _didn't like), but she never actually _complained_. At least to him. He _had _seen her sending furious text messages on more than one occasion—the contents of which he was pretty sure he could guess—but to his face, at least, she was a model of professionalism.

Tony (and sometimes Bruce, though not often—he said it made him nervous and doing things that made him nervous were apparently not a good idea) used the time while she was gone to peruse SHIELD's records. They learned all kinds of information—most of it almost unbelievably weird—and the records on Agent Romanoff in particular had inspired Tony to do his best to keep her out of the picture while they did their 'work.' There wasn't a lot of information on her, which was strange considering that SHIELD seemed almost obsessed with record-keeping, but what _was _there was enough to convince Tony that she wasn't someone he wanted to mess with. The word 'assassin' didn't come up specifically, but it didn't take a genius to get the idea.

On January 3rd, Tony decided that he wanted to have most of the day Romanoff-free, and so he sent her on a mission to find a particular brand of peach flavored ice cream that he knew had been discontinued two years ago. He knew that because it had been his favorite, and he had been deeply insulted when the company had ceased production. He'd even tried to buy the company, but Pepper had put the kibosh on that, so he'd had to resign himself to a life without it.

Pepper ruined _all _his fun.

So Romanoff had left a couple of hours ago, leaving Bruce and Tony in what had become 'their' workshop. All of Bruce's new lab equipment had been delivered a week ago, and after a couple of days of setting it up and calibrating, he had settled down to doing whatever research it was he was doing. Tony didn't pay too close attention, in general—he had other things on his mind—but given the way Bruce had more or less set up a clean room over on his side of things (and forbidden anyone from coming within ten feet without appropriate protective gear), Tony would guess it had something to do with blood. _Bruce_'s blood, to be clear.

Just a hunch.

Anyway, Tony had decided to delve into SHIELD's records on Blonsky. He'd spent the last couple of days going through a lot of SHIELD's earlier stuff—stuff his dad had been involved in—and as much fun as reading about the lengthy search for the fucking wonderful 'Captain America' was, Tony was in the mood for something else. In fact, yesterday, he'd decided it was time to dig into what he could find on Romanoff. So he'd started at the present day and gone back through her missions, and had discovered that Romanoff had been involved in the whole Bruce/Blonsky thing to some degree. Mostly in the background, but she'd been there.

That had been interesting, so today Tony wanted to dig deeper. Bruce had filled him in on some parts of the situation and had expressed a sincere disinterest in learning the rest, so he had retreated to his lab, back behind the plastic sheets he'd hung to ensconce himself and his toxic blood, and was going through his own genome, base pair by base pair. Or something.

Tony was going through something far more interesting. The science behind what had happened with Blonsky was...weird. For lack of a better word. Stuff that Tony never would have thought of. Sure, he was an engineer first and foremost, and not a biophysicist, but still. This stuff was intense.

He was just really getting into the meat of it, though, when he was interrupted.

"Sir," JARVIS announced, muting Tony's music, "Agent Barton would like permission to enter the house."

Oh. Him.

For the last two weeks, Tony had been content to pretend that asshole was just _gone_. He hadn't actually seen Barton since Bruce's birthday party. From what he understood (of course he'd checked what SHIELD had on his situation), Barton was in charge of a team of agents who worked 12-hour shifts surveilling the property, watching out for either internal or external threats. But he didn't ever see any of those agents. It was creepy, really.

This was only exacerbated by the fact that Barton was, according to what Tony had read, one hell of a marksman. As in, he could take out a target in the dark from some ridiculous distance in one shot. Using, of all things, a _bow_—apparently, 'Hawkeye's' weapon of choice was from nine thousand years ago.

Where did SHIELD even _find _these people?

At the interruption, Tony rolled his eyes, though he knew his AI couldn't really see him, and said, "Yeah? Did Agent Delivery Boy consider ringing the doorbell?"

There was a moment of silence, and then the doorbell rang. Somehow, it sounded sarcastic.

Tony wondered if SHIELD had done something to it.

Bruce popped his head out of his little plastic den and asked, "What's up?"

"Barton," Tony answered shortly by way of explanation. At Bruce's frown, he added, "Don't worry." He stood up and stretched. "I'll be right back."

Tony took his time getting to the front door. He stopped in the kitchen to grab a drink of water and a granola bar, and noted that it was, improbably for Malibu, pouring rain.

Ha. Nice day to be 'surveilling.'

When Tony opened the front door, Barton looked less than impressed. He was dripping, for one, which wasn't a good look for anyone. He had his gun slung across his back, his arms crossed over his chest, and he was using the inch or two of height he had over Tony to his full advantage, glaring down with narrowed eyes.

"Stark," he said, voice flat. "We have a situation. Agent Romanoff is on her way back from whatever bullshit errand you sent her on, but until she gets here and Coulson gets on site, I've been authorized to contact you."

"What's the 'situation?'" Tony asked coolly, refusing to be intimidated by what he was well aware was very intimidating behavior. The gun, for example, was intimidating.

Barton looked for a moment like he would very much like to punch Tony, but restrained himself. Instead, he growled, "Can I come in?"

Tony wanted to say 'no.' Wanted that very much. But a more logical voice (that sounded rather unnervingly like Bruce, truth be told) prevailed, pointing out that Barton had been, among other things, charged with their protection. If he said there was a 'situation,' then it was probably worth listening to him.

So Tony stepped aside. "Sure. Let me grab you a towel. Try not to, uh, drip too much."

Barton moved inside and shut the door behind him, leaning his gun against the wall next to the door. Tony ran to the nearest bathroom to grab a towel. When he came back, Barton was exactly where he had been a moment before, lingering in the entryway.

Well, that was good. Tony didn't want him wandering around on his own. He thrust the towel at him, and Barton started drying off. When he was no longer drizzling rain water onto the carpet, Tony took the towel back and indifferently tossed it onto a chair. Romanoff could get it later. "Now what's the situation?"

Barton looked around. "Where's Banner?"

Tony gave an irritated huff. Honestly, was he going to have to start pulling nails to get this guy to talk? "Does this have something to do with Bruce?"

"It could," Barton answered shortly.

Tony heaved a huge beleaguered sigh. "JARVIS, tell Bruce to get his ass up here. But be more polite than that."

"Of course, sir."

After a few awkward seconds of silence, Tony offered, "We should sit." He made his way to the living room and tried to look casual as he sat down on his favorite couch.

Barton, though, did not sit, opting to stand stiffly by the doorway.

A moment later, Bruce slouched into the room, doing his best to avoid Barton. In fact, after glancing at him as he walked by, Bruce went to stand clear on the other side of the room. He then asked, "So, uh, what's going on?"

Tony was annoyed that he was the only one sitting (because he _wanted _to sit, damn it, but not if it was going to skew the whole balance of power in the room), so he stood up and paced across the room. "Agent Delivery Boy says that there's a 'situation.' But he hasn't gotten around to elaborating yet." He looked at Barton, doing his best 'innocent' face. "So, spill, buttercup."

At 'situation,' Bruce had frowned but had given no other outward signs of distress. That was good.

Barton had narrowed his eyes at 'Agent Delivery Boy,' but now he sighed. "We got the news as soon as it happened. Ivan Vanko managed to break out of the prison where he was being held."

Oh.

That was...bad.

Because he'd tried to kill Tony. He hadn't succeeded. But back then, Tony had the suits. He'd been able to protect himself. Now, Tony _didn't _have the suits. Now, he was just sitting here, more or less helpless, and if Vanko tried again, which he almost certainly _would_—

"—more security," Barton finished, looking at Tony expectantly.

Ugh, he'd missed all of that. "What?"

"I said," Barton repeated with a frown, "Coulson says he can get some more agents out here, but he's not sure the solution is more security."

Tony snorted. "Oh, yeah, I don't know why I'd want to get more security over here, since the guy who tried to kill me just busted out of a maximum security prison. Nah, more security won't help. I mean, how did he even do that? I thought the point of having a maximum security prison was to _keep people there_."

"He had help," Barton admitted, clearly reluctant. "We don't know who, or why, but he couldn't have gotten out on his own. Coulson might have more information."

"Right," Tony acknowledged. "Fine. About Coulson. You said he doesn't think the answer is more security? What does he propose?"

"He has to clear it with the director; I'm not authorized to say," Barton deflected.

And that was it.

For the next ten minutes, the three of them lingered in thick, awkward silence. Tony sipped nervously from his bottle of water, eventually sitting down again (power balance of the room be damned, he wanted to sit) and bouncing one leg nervously. After a moment, Bruce also sat, albeit stiffly.

Barton, unsurprisingly, remained standing.

Tony had just taken out his phone and was considering the pros and cons of informing Pepper of Vanko's jailbreak via text message (the cons greatly outweighed the pros) when the doorbell rang.

"I wish," Tony mused, "That you people would at least _pretend _that you can't get through the outside gates whenever you want. Just for my peace of mind. You know, so I can sleep at night."

Barton raised an eyebrow. "Where's the fun in that?" He went to get the door.

"That guy's a dick," Tony muttered, casting a sideways glance at Bruce, who nodded vehemently in agreement.

A moment later, Barton reappeared with both Coulson and Romanoff. Romanoff was carrying a plastic bag, which she practically threw at Tony. "Here."

Tony opened the bag—it was his ice cream. Ice cream that should, by all means, not exist. "What the hell? How did you—you know what, never mind. I don't want to know."

Romanoff smirked, but Coulson cut off any further banter. "Mr. Stark, Dr. Banner. Agent Barton informed you of the current situation?"

"Yup," Tony affirmed. "He was kinda vague, though. I mean, I got the point though. Bad guy manages improbable escape from prison, probably coming for me." He paused, then asked, "How'd he do it?"

"We're still investigating that," Coulson answered efficiently. "You'll know when we do."

Tony doubted that. He figured he'd know rather later than they did, and probably only after twisting some arms (or hacking SHIELD...again). But that was fine. There were more pressing issues at hand. "So, what's the plan?" He didn't especially _want _their help, but given the fact he'd been rendered more or less helpless, he wasn't going to turn his nose up at it. Besides, by some weird twist of fate, he was now endangering Bruce more than Bruce was endangering him.

This whole 'having to think of someone other than himself' thing was damn inconvenient.

"You have two options," Coulson began, as if he'd been rehearsing this. Maybe he had been. "We can, of course, provide more security or assist with relocation, if that's something you're interested in. Or, you could protect yourself and lend us a hand."

"What?" Tony asked, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I've cleared it with Director Fury. He's agreed that, in the interest of national security, it's prudent for you to begin production of a new Iron Man suit." Coulson adjusted his sunglasses (that he shouldn't have needed; it was raining. What was with this guy?). "We're fairly sure that you're one of Vanko's objectives. He comes here, and we're all waiting for him. That includes you. So, Mr. Stark, if that is more to your liking, we could take that route instead."

Hell _yes _that was more to his liking. But it wasn't quite that simple, was it? "Wait, you're telling me that you managed to overturn the cease and desist order?"

Coulson shook his head. "Not quite. But if it becomes an issue, we'll handle it."

Yeah, Tony bet they would. They had 'handling' down to an art form. Still, plans were already whizzing around in his head. He'd started that new suit a couple of weeks ago, it was almost half-finished, he could have it operational in a couple of days...with the new arc reactor, he could do _so much more _than he could before, and—

"—can't stay on the premises," Coulson stated with finality.

Goddamnit, he'd missed something else. Tony frowned. "Sorry, what was that?"

"I said, given the circumstances, Dr. Banner can't stay on the premises."

Romanoff was looking cautiously between Tony and Bruce, like she expected one of them to make a scene, and Barton was doing his super-agent-death-glare again, but Coulson was unflappable as always.

"Why the hell not?" Tony demanded. Sure, there might be a crazy Russian coming for him, but that wasn't going to be an _issue_. He'd handle it. With repulsors. Oh, god, he'd missed his repulsors.

"We're more or less planning on luring Vanko here," Coulson said. He paused. "But if Dr. Banner is here as well...that could get ugly."

From his corner, Bruce added, "If they're going to lure him here, it'd probably be for the best if I go. I mean, if someone tried to kill you—"

"Then I'd damn well want you here to get my back, Banner!" Tony snapped. Honestly. From what he'd read about Bruce's 'condition,' he'd be one hell of a bodyguard. Damn right he'd want him around, if it came down to that.

"The...I...the Other Guy's not predictable, though, Tony! He could protect you, or he could throw you through a wall, there's no way to control him."

"Exactly, Mr. Stark," Coulson agreed.

Tony wasn't done, though. "Okay, so, learn to control him. And besides, I'm going to be wearing a badass suit of armor, so, it's not like going through a wall would _hurt _me. It'll be fine!"

"If he goes through head first," Romanoff muttered to Barton, "It wouldn't matter if he was wearing the armor or not. He'd do more damage to the wall than it'd do to his rock-hard head."

Tony ignored them in favor of making his case to Coulson. "Look. I want him here. You said it was for national security, right?" That _was _what Coulson had said. Tony didn't know _why _it had anything to do with national security, but there it was. And as far as Tony was concerned, _here _was better than _not here_, as he'd already established. Besides that, he'd made a commitment, god damn it. He _liked _having a roomie. "Anyway, if a city gets broken or something, I'll buy it. How's that?"

"Jesus, Stark," Barton snarked. "People could get killed, is your money going to fix that, too?"

Geez, someone was touchy. "Maybe." Then, whinier, "I'm tired of going on about this all the time, can't we all just play nice? I like having my own physicist!"

Bruce looked perturbed, but did not speak up either for or against Tony's latest proposition.

Coulson looked between Romanoff and Barton. "He's right." The agents looked incredulous, so Coulson clarified, "About keeping Banner here. It's something that we want." He paused. "If we keep surveillance up, we should know about any potential threat before it actuates. We could extract Banner then, if we have to, with minimal disruption to any...collaboration."

"We could," Barton replied evenly. "But is that really the safest course of action?"

Bruce finally decided to interject, "Really, if it's going to be an issue—"

"Shut it," Tony interrupted. "You need to keep doing whatever it is you're doing in your half of the workshop. Right? A cure or whatever? You're staying. End of story." He glared at the SHIELD agents. "He's staying. So. Deal with it."

Coulson, Romanoff, and Barton gave near-identical frowns before Coulson sighed. "I'll have to clear it with Fury."

"Do that," Tony advised, feeling very self-satisfied. Everything had gone exactly his way, as it so often did.

"Fine," Coulson agreed. He adjusted his suit jacket. "I'll be in contact. In the meantime, we're increasing the number of agents on the property. Barton and Romanoff are henceforth assigned to the house."

Tony attempted to object, but the agents were dispersing. As Coulson turned to head back towards the front door, he threw over his shoulder, "By the way, Mr. Stark, could you please stop hacking SHIELD's servers? If you require any information, feel free to contact our offices; Agent Romanoff should be able to help you get anything you need."

With that, he was gone.

Tony deflated.

Okay, so maybe _everything _hadn't gone exactly his way.

But it mostly had.

Well, he still had a crazy Russian out for his blood, and he had to build a new suit, and he needed to tell Pepper that his life was at risk again, and he might have to start being a lot nicer to the government agents who were creeping around his house, but overall...things weren't so bad.

Right.

* * *

**Thanks for reading/following/favoriting!**

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	10. Nothing Good Lasts Forever

**Thanks to my beta, irite, for continued dedication to the cause.**

**...I just wanted to use the phrase 'dedication to the cause.'**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

Tony was on a mission.

It was impossible.

Since the beginning of the new year, he'd had a pair of government agents more or less living with him.

His mission? Ignore them.

SHIELD had started out watching Bruce in December, making sure he didn't have any 'incidents' and making sure that no one gave him any trouble. Tony hadn't liked having them around—they'd been spying on _him_, too, in the process—but if that was the price he had to pay to keep Bruce around, that was okay. He could deal with that like a mature, responsible adult.

Well, kinda. He maybe hadn't been _completely _mature about the whole thing, but he was pissed off, damn it! The government had robbed him, and now he was supposed to just let them waltz in and invade his privacy?

Of course he knew it was for his own good. For Bruce's good. It was patronizing as hell, but he _got _it. He even knew that SHIELD hadn't been involved in that whole 'let's confiscate the Iron Man armor and hand it over to Justin Hammer and his friends' thing that the Senate had done. So being angry with SHIELD wasn't exactly helpful. But they were still assuming that they knew what was best for him, that they knew what was best for _everyone_, and Tony didn't like that.

Tony didn't like it when _anyone _assumed that. The way he figured, he was the best judge of what was best for him.

Still, he was working with them as much as he could really be expected to. Sure, he'd been pissed off when he found out how he'd been played. But when it came down to it, he didn't want trouble any more than they did. As long as they kept a low profile, he thought everything would be fine.

At the beginning of January, though, a whole new layer of complexity had been added to the whole arrangement. Ivan Vanko had managed to bust out of prison, which was very bad news for the people he'd once attempted (and failed) to kill.

Namely, Tony.

At least in handling _that_, SHIELD had taken a step in the right direction. They'd also made some missteps—for example, they'd thought that Bruce should leave until the threat was gone. Tony disagreed, and he'd managed to make them see things his way. It helped that, for whatever reason, SHIELD wanted the two of them working together. Tony still didn't know what was up with that, but it got him what he wanted, so he wasn't going to complain.

But they'd offered to let him start construction on a new suit, which was a big plus in Tony's book (if he ignored the whole 'they were telling him what to do' thing). They couldn't do much about what the Senate had done, but Coulson had promised that they'd handle the cease and desist order, at least, if it came down to it.

Of course, Coulson had immediately afterwards called Tony out for hacking SHIELD—which _of course _he'd been doing—so that lost them a few points. Honestly, how else was Tony supposed to find out what kind of stuff they were involved in? He wasn't going to just ask Romanoff, like Coulson had suggested. He was _ignoring _her.

But he'd decided, for the moment, that he could let the whole 'hacking SHIELD' thing slide for a bit, and he'd started construction instead. Well. Resumed. He _might _have started a couple of days after Bruce moved in. Maybe. Not that it was anyone's business.

SHIELD hadn't just told him to make a new suit and sent him on his merry way, though. Since Bruce was staying, they'd insisted on extra security. Which was why Barton and Romanoff had moved in. That was, into _Tony's_ house.

They alternated 12-hour shifts like clockwork. Romanoff took the days, from 7 AM to 7 PM. Barton took the nights. They set up shop in a spare room, and try as he did, Tony couldn't ignore them hauling computer screens and wiring through his house. From what he gathered, they were setting up some kind of surveillance network. He hadn't offered to let them use JARVIS, and they didn't ask. In fact, they didn't ask for much. For the most part, they didn't interact with either Tony or Bruce, or anyone else who stopped by. Sure, he'd seen Bruce and Romanoff chatting a few times, but he mostly put it out of his mind. Bruce was too polite to ignore the agents like he should, that was all. It was okay, though; Tony could ignore them enough for both of them.

At least, he could _try_. He made it his mission, after all. And he was reasonably successful at it. But he just couldn't ignore them completely. Hazard of being a genius, maybe, or paranoid. Or both. He didn't _want _to see Barton stalking through the house, clearing every room for intruders. He didn't _want _to see Romanoff calling in updates to SHIELD every hour. But like a sore on the roof of his mouth, he couldn't just ignore them. He was aware of them, to some degree.

It was annoying.

Still, life with the creepy assassin duo eventually settled down somewhat.

Romanoff had, until the beginning of January, been working as Tony's assistant, but that arrangement ended when Vanko broke out of his supposedly high-security prison. So Tony went through almost two weeks without anyone to pick up the laundry or deliver his food, and had gotten to the point where he was subsisting entirely on microwave popcorn (Bruce might have cooked for him, if Tony had asked, but he wasn't going to, damn it) before Pepper found someone she thought was suitable. SHIELD assured both Tony and Pepper that this new hire was _not _an undercover government agent, and so she'd started working the third week of January. Her name was Olivia, and she managed to do everything Tony required with a bare minimum of exasperated sighing. And she managed to do it while staying entirely in the background.

Definitely a plus.

She even took the whole 'government agents in the house' thing pretty well. Of course, no one told her about Bruce; she thought the agents were there entirely for Tony's protection. What could Tony's adorable live-in physicist have to do with anything?

In fact, she was actually more suspicious of the live-in physicist thing. At least it only took Tony and Bruce until the end of February to convince her that they weren't sleeping together.

Tony didn't even know where she'd _get _that idea.

Bruce, for his part, spent a fair amount of time working in the lab he'd cordoned off. He was looking for a cure for his 'condition,' Tony knew, or at least a way to control his other half. Tony wasn't sure a cure was really the right direction to take, and he wasn't sure if 'control' could be found in a lab. Given that he truly believed that everyone in the world wanted his opinion, he did not hesitate to express as much.

Surprisingly, Bruce had agreed with him, at least about the second part. "I'm not going to stop looking for a cure, Tony. That's...it's not up for debate." He paused, thoughtful, and Tony was about to interject (because, to him, _everything _was up for debate), when Bruce admitted, "But...when I was in Canada, I was, uh, trying to learn to control it. I think I was making decent progress, too, but, um, then I was 'relocated.' Haven't had much chance to get back to it..."

That was interesting, and Tony had immediately suggested, "Well, no time like the present, right?"

But Bruce had shook his head. "Are you insane? We're surrounded by millions of people. If something goes wrong, I could hurt someone."

Tony had considered this for all of five seconds before he pointed out, "I work on stuff that could explode or something all the time."

Bruce had narrowed his eyes. "It's not the same. If you—"

"If I blow something up, it's because I was careless. Totally my fault. So I'm careful. Same with you, right? Look. Take things slow. Be careful. It'll be fine."

Trying a different angle, Bruce said, "I could hurt you, or—"

"I have the suit," Tony pointed out. He'd finished it within a week of his chat with SHIELD—implementing the changes he'd designed hadn't taken very long, and JARVIS had taken care of most of the construction. "And besides, there's a SHIELD agent here 24/7. If something goes wrong, they can have a team here in like, three minutes."

This, improbably, actually seemed to work towards assuaging Bruce's worry. "I...guess you're right." Then Bruce had smiled ruefully. "Don't know how useful their team might be, but...you're right."

Tony had pressed his advantage. "I usually am. Come on. It's worth a shot, right?"

Reluctantly, Bruce had agreed. And consequently, he spent a few hours in the gym every day, doing god knows what, since he wouldn't let Tony in to watch.

Tony conceded that, if that was the condition Bruce was going to set, and ordered JARVIS to turn off the video feed from the gym and keep the surveillance on Bruce to a necessary minimum. After all, it seemed universally advantageous for Bruce to get a handle on his big, green alter ego. Sure, Barton and Romanoff hadn't been too pleased when they found out, but even they had to admit that any progress towards control was a good thing. Especially with the new threat from Vanko.

"If something goes wrong, though," Romanoff had told Tony seriously, "You're footing the bill."

Tony shrugged. He'd already agreed to that, hadn't he?

So the weeks passed quietly, and Monday, March 14th, started out like every other day for the last couple of weeks had. Tony woke up at a fairly early 8:00 AM and made his way downstairs, where he found his coffee and breakfast waiting for him. He ate and then went down to his workshop, where Bruce was already working, having gotten up absurdly early to do his anti-rage meditation or whatever.

The two of them whacked away at their various projects until lunchtime, when JARVIS informed Tony, "Sir, Ms. Potts is here to talk about the designs you sent to R&D yesterday."

"Great, J, send her down," Tony answered. He'd finished the new Iron Man armor by mid January and had, since then, delved into some new projects. Most of them were Iron Man related (he had some plans for a suit that would more or less come to him when he called it, but that was a long way down the road still) but he _had _found some time to work on some stuff for Stark Industries. Including a slew of plans he'd sent over yesterday.

A few minutes later, Pepper came clicking into the workshop. She was carrying a paper bag which, Tony's nose told him, contained lunch. She set it down on a workbench and called, "Lunch is here, Bruce!"

"I get some, too, right?" Tony asked, standing up and stretching before wandering over to the bag. He reached out for it.

She snatched it back up. "You can wait for Bruce."

Tony disagreed, but he knew better than to express as much. Instead, he sat back down, arms crossed over his chest, and waited for Bruce to finish his apparently six-year-long decontamination procedure.

When Bruce finally, _finally_ slipped out of his lab and Pepper relinquished her grip on lunch, the three of them settled down to eat. For the next half hour or so, Pepper and Tony went over his new ideas, and Pepper shot most of them down in an efficient, competent way that only made Tony want to design something more ridiculous. Every now and then, Bruce would throw out a suggestion (usually a good one, too—he got _way _more approving nods from Pepper than Tony did, brown noser). Soon, Pepper and Bruce were teasing Tony about his propensity towards designing children's toys with combustible components.

Some friends. It wasn't his fault they couldn't see his genius.

Really, though, he didn't mind too much. For one, he could conceded that his designs _could_ _sometimes_ seem...ambitious. Or dangerous. Especially to people like Bruce and Pepper, who had Disapproving Looks and were Real Adults. Second, it gave them something to talk about, and Tony wasn't going to deprive them of that. So he took their ribbing in good humor and ate his sandwich.

As they finished up their food, conversation turned more serious. Wrapping up her leftovers, Pepper asked, "Have you heard anything about Vanko?"

She sounded remarkably calm, which was a major change from how she'd sounded when Tony had told her about this new problem. Then, she'd done that high-pitched voice thing that made Tony worry for her blood pressure. And vocal cords. When she'd finished yelling at him (he wasn't entirely sure _why _she was yelling at him, it wasn't like _he'd _busted Vanko out of prison), she'd advised him to be careful about a dozen times. _Then _she'd called Coulson (Pepper never deleted a phone number) to make sure SHIELD was doing all they could to make sure Tony wasn't going to get his ass kicked.

It had been, maybe, just a_ little_ embarrassing.

After that, she'd calmed down some, to the point that she only asked Tony about the situation once or twice a day. And, Tony suspected, contacted Coulson quite frequently as well, given the way she tended to know more about what was going on than he did.

"I haven't," he answered, balling up his sandwich wrapper and tossing it towards the garbage can. He missed. Bruce sighed and got up to throw it out along with his own trash. "But you know how those guys are, they don't tell me anything."

"That's because you don't ask," Pepper pointed out. Bruce laughed.

"I'm sorry, should I go seek them out in their creepy headquarters and say, 'oh, hey guys, what's up? How goes the search for the crazy Russian escapee?'" Tony shook his head. "No thanks."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Their 'creepy headquarters,' Tony? It's a bedroom with like, $50,000 worth of computer and video components. Not really creepy."

Surprised, Tony asked, "You've been in there?" He hadn't. As part of his 'pretend they aren't here' mission, he avoided that room like the plague. Of course he'd seen them setting up, and of course JARVIS kept tabs on them, but he didn't go _visiting. _Ew.

Awkwardly, Bruce shrugged. "A couple times. Natasha wanted—"

"_Natasha?_" Tony asked. "Since when are we on a first name basis with them?" Ideally, Tony figured they could stay 'Barton' and 'Romanoff' forever. That was better than 'hey, you,' anyway.

Bruce shrugged again. "Natasha wanted to talk about my, uh, progress." He cast a quick look at Pepper before going on, "On, uh, you know."

"Right," Tony said. Control. The SHIELD agents had been iffy about that. But Pepper didn't know about Bruce's alter ego, and it'd probably be better to keep it that way, so they should skirt the issue. "What did she want?"

"Just a progress report," Bruce answered. "I told her everything's going fine."

Pepper rolled her eyes at the two of them. "You two are ridiculous. Secrecy is _not _your strong suit."

Tony huffed. "Whatever, Potts. We're _totally _subtle. It's just science stuff, anyway." He turned his attention back to Bruce. "But _Natasha_? _Really_?"

Bruce frowned. "She's not...that bad, Tony. Actually, she's really smart. I think you'd like her..."

Tony found this hard to believe. He found it harder to believe that Bruce had willingly gone into the lion's den. On more than one occasion, from the sound of it. And Bruce had apparently been hanging out with Romanoff? Sure, he'd seen them talking, but he hadn't thought they'd actually been _talking_. More like...exchanging the bare minimum of pleasantries to maintain civility. Well, whatever. Bruce could talk to whomever he wanted. Even if that _was _shady-ass government operatives. Still, it was with more acid than Tony intended when he replied, "If you say so. When's the wedding?"

Pepper smacked Tony's arm and stood up. "Honestly, Tony." She turned a fond look on Bruce. "It's good that you're trying to get along with her. _One _of you should." She looked at her watch. "I need to get back to work. Olivia will be by with dinner around 7:00, she said."

They all said their goodbyes, and Pepper headed out of the workshop and back upstairs. When the door had closed behind her, Tony swiveled his chair around to face Bruce and dealt with this new information the only way he knew how. "Bruce and 'Tasha, sitting in a tree—"

His immaturity was abruptly cut off by JARVIS. "Sir, Agent Romanoff requires you and Dr. Banner, and at once."

Shit. That wasn't good.

He hoped this wasn't about his new song.

* * *

At first, Bruce had been more or less terrified of the SHIELD agents who'd been assigned to the house.

He did everything in his power to avoid them. He didn't like the government any more than Tony, and these people had been sent here to watch him. Yeah, they were supposed to make sure no one gave him any trouble, but their _first _job was to watch him.

He'd seen Barton's gun. And there was always such a fine line between 'watching' and 'shooting.' At least in his experience.

At the beginning of the year, when Vanko had broken out, though, they hadn't tried to push him out of the house and into custody or something. They'd had reservations about him staying there, but they _had _let him stay, which meant they trusted him to some degree. Even Coulson, who seemed to have some authority, had some faith in him. A couple of days after their talk in Tony's living room, Coulson had contacted them to say that his continued residence at Tony's house had been green-lighted, with plans in place to get him out if they had to.

Until then, he'd be left alone.

Bruce, slowly, began to think that maybe, just maybe, SHIELD was...okay. Not great, but okay.

Sure, they were awfully secretive about _why _they had dropped him off on Tony's doorstep, why they wanted the two of them working together. Bruce had pressed, the last time he'd talked to Coulson, but all he'd managed to get from the other man was a half-smile and a vague, "It's good to make friends, Dr. Banner."

That made _no _sense. But it didn't seem overtly dangerous, living here with Tony, and it didn't seem like SHIELD was doing anything _awful_, at least at the moment. He certainly wasn't going to trust them, but for right now, he thought he could stop _mistrusting _them.

So he'd gone back to treating Agent Romanoff with the politeness he'd been employing before, when she'd been 'Natalie.' When he saw Barton, he made an attempt to at least manage a nod, although Barton hardly ever reciprocated. When Agent Romanoff was attempting to do a particularly arduous or boring task, Bruce offered his assistance. It wasn't ever accepted, but Agent Romanoff said she was grateful for the offers.

By the beginning of February, Agent Romanoff had explicitly instructed him to call her Natasha. "Since we're going to be stuck together for god knows how long. The Agent thing gets old fast."

He'd started doing as she'd asked, but still called Barton 'Agent Barton.' Since Barton never said anything one way or another about it. In fact, he didn't say _much_.

"He's got a stick up his ass," Natasha told Bruce one afternoon as he snacked on a bowl of peach ice cream in the kitchen and she checked the windows for integrity. "He's not usually such a dick, but he's not good with strangers."

Tony seemingly remained oblivious of the fact that Bruce was 'fraternizing with the enemy' as it were. But then, Tony was putting a lot of effort into pretending that the SHIELD agents weren't there at all. Which was rude, but Bruce kind of got where he was coming from.

Kind of.

But it wasn't his place to push Tony and besides, that seemed like it would be a stunningly futile endeavor. So Bruce went about his routine, which now (on Tony's persuading) included one to two hours a day of working on the kind of reverse-meditation he'd been doing in Canada. Mostly, he was too afraid to do much, but he'd managed some progress. It all came down to _channeling_ his anger, not denying it.

Like it was that simple.

Natasha was interested in his progress, which made a lot of sense—if he was tempting fate, SHIELD _would _want to know about it. And although she'd seemed mildly disapproving at first ("Don't you think it's risky?") she hadn't said anything against it since. She asked for updates every now and then, and Bruce had no doubts that information was going straight to Coulson, but Bruce didn't mind. Anything that made everyone feel more at ease was fine with him.

By the beginning of March, even Barton was thawing some. Not a lot, but some. Bruce had caught him telling Natasha a decidedly off-color joke by the front door as they changed shifts, and Barton hadn't immediately scowled and stalked away. He'd offered a cool nod first.

It was progress, Bruce thought.

And since then, Barton had gotten all the way up to greeting Bruce, although Bruce wondered if Natasha had put pressure on him to do so. Still, the changes were definitely there.

Yeah, it took some getting used to, but after two months, Bruce could honestly say he didn't really mind the two agents. They'd proven that they weren't there to harass him. They weren't going to tranquilize him at the drop of a hat or something—once or twice, Bruce had stubbed his toe or shut his finger in a drawer, and Natasha's only reaction had been, "You okay?" No tranquilizer darts, no SWAT teams, nothing.

He knew that, if there _was _an 'incident,' they probably wouldn't hesitate to take him down. Of course he got that. And he didn't resent them for it at all. In fact, it was kind of reassuring.

Once or twice, Bruce tried to bring this up with Tony, tried to get him to see that these agents were there for their protection, were just doing their jobs, but Tony could be remarkably oblivious when people started saying things he didn't want to hear. To the point that Bruce began to wonder if he had selective hearing. After a couple of attempts, he gave up. Tony would either figure it out on his own or just go on being oblivious forever. Bruce suspected that the latter would be the case.

So when it clicked for Tony during lunch on March 14th, Bruce was surprised. And Tony's teasing wasn't quite the reaction he'd been expecting. Anger, maybe. Betrayal, since Tony had definitely been including Bruce in his 'The Government Agents Are Evil' club. Indifference was also a possibility (because Tony was usually pretty laid back), but the teasing?

That had been unexpected.

And maybe something might have come after the teasing—the anger and betrayal, maybe—but Tony had been interrupted by Natasha summoning them upstairs.

Bruce was thankful, although he doubted Natasha had good news for them.

SHIELD hardly ever did.

Tony exchanged a look with Bruce. "Your new girlfriend wants you."

Bruce rolled his eyes and stood up. "Don't. And she wants us both, come on."

Tony stood. "Well, who can blame her? Who doesn't want to be part of a sexy scientist sandwich?"

"Tony!" Okay, the teasing was unexpected. It was also mortifying.

Tony led the way upstairs. Where they found Natasha standing in the living room with Pepper. From the looks of things, Natasha had snagged her as she was leaving (Pepper had her jacket and purse).

"What's up?" Tony asked, glancing between the two of them, suddenly serious. Bruce didn't blame him. If Pepper was about to get involved, that wasn't good.

"Vanko," Natasha answered simply. "He's been spotted in the area."

"On the property?" Tony asked quickly, bouncing on his toes a bit.

"No," Natasha answered. "But he's heading this way. And he's armed similarly to how he was when he attacked you the first time. We're waiting until he's here before we make ourselves known. Barton's en route, along with Coulson. The rest of the team is inbound as well." She looked at Bruce. "We need to get you out of here."

Yeah, that's what they'd agreed on. He'd stay until there was actually a situation, then go. Definitely for the best, really, considering how his heart rate was already kicking up. He nodded. "Sure. Of course. Let me grab some things, first."

"Hold up," Tony interjected.

"Not now, Stark," Natasha cut him off. "Bruce, there's really not time—"

But Tony would not be cut off. "I don't think—"

Pepper spoke up, surprising everyone. "Why are you evacuating Bruce?"

Natasha exchanged a startled look with Tony and Bruce, but she recovered quickly. "If he's injured...that could be an issue."

Bruce breathed a tiny sigh of relief. His big, green secret was still safe. Still, he was becoming more and more nervous the longer they lingered here. That, if nothing else, was a good reason to get moving.

Pepper nodded, brisk and efficient. "I'll go with him, then." She looked at Tony. "I... be careful, okay?"

Tony grinned. "Am I ever not?"

"Yes," Pepper and Bruce answered together. They both chuckled, tense, trying to relieve some of their apprehension. Bruce could tell that Pepper was almost as nervous as he was...although her nerves had a rather different source.

How much would she freak out, if she knew about him? If she knew what kind of danger he was posing? Vanko had nothing on him, and if she was this worried about Tony now, then...

But this wasn't the time to think about that. Now, he had to concentrate on his breathing, needed to focus on staying centered. Tony had total faith in him. Natasha had...some faith in him. He could do this.

A moment later, Coulson and Barton came into the house, slamming the front door loudly behind them. When they got into the living room, Bruce saw that Barton was wearing something very different from the jeans and jacket that he usually showed up in. Some sort of leather...outfit. With lots of...doodads. And...buckles. And a quiver. And a bow.

Geez. He really _did _use a bow.

"Dude, Agent Feather Boy is gonna go kick some ass," Tony observed, eyes wide. He'd found out Barton's codename ('Hawkeye') while he'd been hacking SHIELD, and although he'd been caught (and chastised by Coulson) he couldn't resist throwing out bird jokes whenever he got the opportunity.

Barton took the nickname with the same grim resignation with which he'd tolerated all of Tony's snide asides and bird jokes over the last few months. That is, he frowned and flipped Tony off.

Coulson frowned. "Now's not the time, Stark, Barton."

Tony retorted quickly, "Au contraire. It's always time."

Coulson rolled his eyes and then turned his attention to his agents. "I've rendezvoused with the rest of the team. They're in position outside waiting for further instruction." Then, to Natasha, "Romanoff, get Dr. Banner off the premises."

She nodded. "Ms. Potts wishes to accompany him."

Coulson considered this briefly. "Fine. Take them to our base and get back here ASAP. If that's okay with you, Dr. Banner? Ms. Potts?"

They both nodded. Bruce figured he wasn't in a position to be making demands. He was just surprised that Pepper wanted to go with him. Part of him worried that it was a bad idea, that it was putting her in danger, but they were being _evacuated._ How much danger could there be?

"Then you'd better get going," Coulson said. "I want you back here."

With that, Natasha turned on her heel and strode towards the door. She beckoned for Bruce and Pepper to follow.

Pepper gave Tony a quick kiss on the cheek, Tony clapped Bruce once on the shoulder, and then Bruce and Pepper hurried to follow Natasha.

She led them to the driveway, where a black car (unmarked except for its government plates) was waiting. Natasha hurried to the driver's seat, and Pepper got in the front. Bruce slipped into the back, glancing around nervously.

As soon as he'd shut the door, Natasha started the car and threw it into gear, peeling down the driveway.

They made it almost all the way to the gate before something flashed across the front of the car...cutting the hood in half.

_Oh, _Bruce thought vaguely. _That's not good_.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

**The next chapter is being a pain in terms of writing, but I _should _have it finished by next Wednesday. I hate writing action scenes...**

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	11. Will you still call me superman?

**Thanks to my beta, irite, for always being supportive when I attempt to write action scenes. 'Attempt' being the operative word here.**

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**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

"Er, what was that?" Tony asked in response to the loud _crash _that had just sounded somewhere outside. "That sounded kinda not good."

Coulson drew his gun. "Better suit up, Mr. Stark." He looked at Barton. "Move out. I need eyes up top."

Barton gave a tense nod and slipped out of the room, his bow (Tony couldn't resist a silent snicker) at the ready.

Something that sounded uncomfortably like a roar came from outside.

_That didn't _sound _like a roar. That _was _a roar._

"Stark, go," Coulson advised tersely, impatiently.

But Tony didn't take orders, especially from government agents, and he wasn't about to start now. Not when he had a very bad feeling about what was happening. "Was that—"

"Go," Coulson said again, deadly serious. "Now's not the time to talk."

As much as Tony hated to admit it, Coulson was probably right. If what Tony _thought_ was happening was actually happening, he was going to need his suit. Fast. And so, telling himself this was really _his _idea, he whirled around on his heel and went down to his workshop.

For the moment, he still needed the robotic assembly for his suits, even as he was trying to engineer around that. Soon, he would be able to call the suit to him, wherever he was, but for now he was limited. Which was a pain, but unavoidable.

As he hurried downstairs, Tony heard another roar and more crashing, getting steadily louder. Or closer. Either way, it didn't bode well.

He burst into his workshop and hopped up onto the platform he'd set up so that his robots could put him together, trying not to fidget impatiently and draw this process out longer. Above him, he could hear muffled voices yelling and doors slamming. Someone fired a gun, a single shot.

Glass shattered, and that was followed by the sound of something heavy falling over. A wall, maybe?

Footsteps thundered overhead, huge and heavy. Tony worried momentarily for the ceiling, but it held. The footsteps crashed onward.

"Sir, the perimeter has been breached," JARVIS stated a half-second later.

"Yeah, no shit. Can we hurry this _up_, guys?" Tony snarled. Whatever was going on up there, he kinda wanted to stop it.

The robots apparently didn't feel his urgency, though, since they continued at their previous pace. Still, the whole assembly took maybe thirty seconds, and as soon as he was suited up, he blasted off the platform and up the underground driveway, shooting up into the sky to survey the situation.

As he flew, he had JARVIS search out the frequency that SHIELD was using for their communication, and when he was connected he said, "What's the situation?"

What he could see from about a hundred feet up wasn't encouraging. The car that Romanoff had presumably been driving was near the gate, but it wasn't moving. Largely due to the fact that the front part of the car had been severed from the rest. JARVIS's scan revealed that the car was also marked with long burn slashes streaked along the sides. It was empty, the passenger's side door flung open haphazardly.

The back passenger's side door had been removed from its hinges and was lying in the driveway twenty-five feet away.

"We have a situation," came Coulson's voice, surprisingly calm. "Banner and Vanko are engaged around the south side of the house—" his voice was drowned out by another roar, deafening inside the helmet. When it quieted, Coulson continued, "Barton's surveying the area, but the rest of our team is holding back."

Tony twisted around in the air until he could make the battling pair out. Yeah, they were kinda unmistakable, even from a hundred feet up. Even if Tony had only seen video of Bruce's alter ego, he'd seen enough to identify that yeah, that was him. He had JARVIS zoom in and saw that, rather awkwardly, Bruce seemed to have lost his clothes in his transformation.

_Well, not like anyone's going to slap a 'public indecency' charge on him_.

More troubling than Bruce's lack of clothing, though, was that Vanko was in some kind of Iron Man-esque ensemble, armed with a new and improved version of his electric whips. The armor itself was lacking, though. Parts of it were still more of a metal skeleton than armor, like Vanko hadn't taken the time to finish it.

_Maybe he was in a hurry. _

Or he'd been interrupted while he was building it. Either way, he was here, and seemingly incomplete.

Which he was probably regretting right about now. But Tony had more pressing concerns.

"What about Pepper and Romanoff?" he asked, pulling his gaze from the battle and eyeing the remnants of the car, trying to ignore the sudden nausea rising in his stomach. He needed to stay focused on the issue at hand, had to believe that Pepper hadn't run afoul of either Vanko or Bruce. She wasn't dead in the car, and that was something.

"We're waiting for word." He sounded no more worried than usual, but that wasn't reassuring. Tony thought that Coulson seemed like the type who never seemed worried.

"Come on, give me _something,_" Tony demanded.

"Agent Romanoff is a skilled agent, Stark. We have to trust her. Now, I need you over on the south side of the house. This needs to stop."

Tony didn't _want _to trust Romanoff, not with Pepper. But, again, Coulson was right. They needed to contain this before someone—or multiple someones—got hurt. So he gritted his teeth against his first instinct—telling Coulson to shove it—and nodded once, mostly to clear his head. Then he flew in closer.

He could see, now, the path that Bruce and Vanko had taken to get back here—a large part of his house had been trampled in the process, broken glass and chunks of concrete and the broken remnants of his possessions scattered everywhere. A broken pipe was spraying water into the air and a small fire had broken out in what had once been the kitchen.

Well, _that _was all going to be a bitch to fix.

Hovering a good thirty feet above the action, Tony turned back to where Bruce—no, what was the ridiculous nickname his alter ego had? Hulk?—and Vanko were duking it out. Well, not so much 'duking it out.' Hulk was swinging his huge fists at Vanko, and Vanko was doing his best to avoid the blows. He hadn't been entirely successful, if the dinged up, scratched appearance of his 'armor' was any indication.

In fact, as Tony watched, Hulk managed to land a blow, sending Vanko through the air before he crashed into a palm tree.

"Dude," came Barton's voice, "That was _awesome_."

Tony was inclined to agree. In a way, it was satisfying watching Vanko get his ass handed to him—served him right, for trying to kill Tony _twice_.

"Focus, Barton," Coulson snapped. "Can you get a shot on Vanko?"

"Not with Banner in the way. And I don't really want to draw his attention, sir," Barton replied easily.

There was a short pause before Coulson suggested, "Stark could distract him, draw him off."

"Good plan," Romanoff said, sounding out of breath. "Sorry about the delay, sir, I was moving Ms. Potts to a safe location. She's fine."

Tony breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good job, agent," Coulson said. "What is her location now?"

Romanoff rattled off some coordinates while Tony wondered what she had meant by 'good plan' in regards to basically throwing him at the rage monster. The coordinates apparently made sense to Coulson because he responded, "Okay. I'm going to move to her location. Romanoff, I need you to cover Barton. Stark, I need you to distract Banner long enough for Barton to get his shot. The others are on standby for backup if you need it, and they've formed a perimeter around the property to stop anyone from leaving."

At that moment, Hulk swatted Vanko into another tree.

"Uh, why don't we just let the big guy take care of this?" Tony asked. "Seems like he's got a handle on it." Now that he'd seen Hulk in action, his desire to get involved with a large, green, naked rage monster was minimal. Actually, it was non-existent.

Coulson gave an exasperated sigh. "We want to keep Banner on the property. If Vanko starts to retreat or is killed, we don't know where he'll go after. We need him to stay in the area, and I'm not sure our perimeter can hold him."

Well, that made sense. Unfortunately. Damn Coulson for always being _right._ "Fine. Any suggestions?"

"Yeah," Coulson answered shortly. "Don't let him throw you into a tree."

Fair enough.

With a deep breath, Tony swooped down in between Hulk and Vanko, feeling suddenly like a very small, annoying insect. This feeling was only exacerbated when Hulk swatted at him with an indifferent hand.

"Hey, now," Tony said, voice tinny and distorted through the suit's external speakers. "That's not very nice." He landed between the pair with a loud _clunk_ and turned to Hulk. "You're usually so much more polite."

Vanko took Hulk's momentary distraction as an opportunity to lash his whip out at Tony from behind.

But Hulk knocked Tony aside and grabbed the whip, and yanked the whole assemblage right out of Vanko's hand. Hulk's hand sizzled where the whip wrapped around it, and he roared in pain before tossing the device aside.

Dizzy, Tony got back to his feet. Hulk hadn't exactly been gentle, and Tony thought he could feel a couple of bruises forming where he'd been knocked around inside the armor. Whatever. He could deal with that later.

Hulk had apparently knocked Vanko over again, and was now towering over him, huge fist raised. Tony clanged over to the two of them, yelling to get Hulk's attention. "Banner! Hey!"

Both Hulk and Vanko looked at him, and Vanko stood, trying to advance again, brandishing his lone remaining whip, apparently unwilling to call it quits until he'd achieved his goal. But before he got two steps, Hulk turned and swatted him away, knocking him over.

"I'm sure that's fun and all," Tony said cautiously, "But I think it's about time we, uh, do something else. You could calm down, maybe stop being green...?"

Hulk was looking at Tony, and his expression could be best described as 'baffled.' But then he took a step forward and swatted Tony, sending him flying.

This time, at least, Tony was prepared, and managed to use his flight stabilizers to regain his balance mid-tumble. "Come on, Banner! Stop with that shit!"

Hulk approached him slowly, still puzzled. He looked between Vanko (who was standing up slowly, clearly the worse for wear after his latest encounter with the ground) and Tony and roared again, face clenched suddenly in anger. Then, quicker than Tony would have thought possible, Hulk had snatched both him and Vanko up—one in each hand—and smashed them together before throwing them into the pile of rubble that had once been the southern end of Tony's house.

Tony skidded and bounced through the chunks of concrete and broken glass, knocking his head against the inside of his helmet. For a moment, he laid dazed before he made a mental note to install some kind of padding in his helmet and made an attempt to find his legs again.

Vanko, he saw, wasn't moving. But then, Vanko hadn't had the benefit of a helmet. Honestly, what was that guy _thinking_?

Distracting Hulk was seeming like a worse and worse idea. Tony hadn't thought that Bruce would attack him, hadn't really even considered that as a possibility. Now he was realizing that he might have been being a little reckless this whole time, thinking that because Bruce knew him and (apparently) liked him, his alter ego would, too. Maybe that had been overly optimistic, maybe Bruce had been right to say that his other half was unpredictable, dangerous.

But then...Hulk seemed pretty confused. Like he wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing in regards to this new threat. His attacks on Tony were, at best, half hearted. Tony had seen how he'd been slamming Vanko around. Comparatively, Tony had gotten a couple love taps.

_Maybe he doesn't know it's you_, Tony thought, shaking his head and trying to clear it. _Maybe he just sees the armor. Sees it's like Vanko. And he's not going after you 'cause you didn't go after him, but he's still not sure you're safe._

If that was the case, all Tony would have to do would be to take his faceplate off, show Hulk that he wasn't a threat.

_Or, _Tony thought, _You take the faceplate down and he throws you into a tree and you die from a crushed skull._

Well, what was life without a little risk?

_Life could be really _short _if you take _this _risk._

Hulk had lumbered a couple of yards away after his latest round of toss-the-metal-men, but he turned around as he heard Tony's heavy footsteps approaching. He growled, looking almost exasperated. Like he just wanted this to be over and couldn't believe that it wasn't.

Praying to all the things he believed in (which mostly amounted to scotch and engines...not the best deities, but whatever), Tony flipped his faceplate up. "Dude, Banner. Chill the fuck out."

Hulk stopped growling. Instead, he looked confused.

Confused was good. Confused meant that he wasn't inflicting head trauma.

As Tony watched, Hulk took a step closer, glancing at Vanko's still form. Thinking quickly, Tony said, "The bad guy's done. I don't think he's gonna be getting up for a while. You did a good job. Why don't we just, uh, go somewhere else?"

Hulk made no indication that he understood, but he didn't move to attack, either. Cautiously, Tony moved towards the corner of the house, hovering a few inches above the ground, ready to blast off if Hulk made a sudden move.

He didn't. Instead, Hulk followed him, first with his eyes, but then lumbering after Tony, still with that confused expression.

"Yeah, nice day for a walk," Tony prattled, talking mostly for the sake of keeping Hulk distracted. "Or a flight. Whatever, really. So. Man. You really showed that asshole who was boss, didn't you?" Tony flew slowly towards one of the gardens on the property, having JARVIS monitor Hulk behind him.

Hulk made no reply, just followed Tony away from the wrecked building and Russian wannabe supervillain.

"Stark," came Coulson's voice. "What's the situation?"

"We're around the other side of the house," Tony answered. "We're out of the way. Do whatever it is you're gonna do." He looked at Hulk, who was still watching him, and then landed next to a stone garden bench. He let himself fall onto it.

After a moment, Hulk followed suit, settling onto the grass with a low grumble.

"Vanko is in custody," Romanoff affirmed a couple of seconds later. "I'm taking him and a team to our detainment facility. Barton's staying on the premises for cleanup."

"Good," Coulson said. "Stark, we can take Banner down now. Barton?"

Barton began to voice something that may have been an objection, but Tony wasn't in the mood to listen to him. Not after what Coulson had said. Quietly, voice low so that Hulk couldn't (he hoped) hear him, Tony seethed, "No fucking way. What, you're just gonna let him do all the work and then tranq him? I don't think so." He glanced back at Hulk, who was just sitting on the ground in the middle of the yard. "He's fine. He was just confused earlier, he wasn't—"

"He's not 'fine,'" Coulson contradicted. "He's a danger, and we need to contain him before anyone—"

Hulk closed his eyes and slumped over. A moment later, he had shrunk down back into Bruce Banner.

Of course Tony knew that Hulk and Bruce were the same person, but until he'd actually seen the transformation (well, reverse transformation in this case) he hadn't quite understood what that meant. Now, he was floored. That had been, without a doubt, one of the strangest—and coolest—things he'd ever seen.

But he didn't let his awe get in the way of being a snot to Coulson. He'd been following orders long enough, and he wasn't going to let SHIELD walk all over him. "Danger, huh? Yeah, I can see where a naked nuclear physicist is _really _threatening. Please, come and knock him out. Oh, yeah, he took care of that for you himself."

Coulson sighed. "He's back to normal? I'll send a team in to collect him."

"Uh, no."

"Stark, he can't stay here. Y_ou _can't stay here, did you see what happened to the south side of your house?"

As a matter of fact, he had. And Coulson had a legitimate point. _Again_.

_Damn it._

Still, Tony bounced back quickly. "Okay, so. We'll go somewhere else. I have that place in Florida. Or, hey, we could go to New York. I could oversee the construction of Stark Tower for a couple of months while I get this place fixed up. Maybe meet with some of my East Coast R&D team..." He'd have to run it by Pepper, of course, but it seemed feasible. Maybe she'd even want to come. It could even be fun; he hadn't been to New York in a while.

"Come to our headquarters," Coulson said. "We can work out the arrangements there. I'll bring Ms. Potts along as well. But you're about to have company."

Tony frowned. He didn't really want to make a social call at SHIELD, but now didn't seem like the time to argue. He could hear sirens approaching—it was a miracle they'd taken _this _long—and soon the emergency personnel would get here. It wouldn't do for him to be in his armor and Bruce to be lying naked on the lawn when they did. That'd raise _way _too many questions. Especially since his new suit wasn't exactly...legal. Getting arrested or something on top of this whole mess would just be icing on the damn cake. "Fine."

"There's a car around front," Coulson said.

Tony sighed and clanged over to Bruce. Hoping desperately that there was a sheet or something in the car that could stand in for clothes, he carefully threw the physicist over his shoulder and clumped around the house to the waiting vehicle.

The things he did for people, honestly.

* * *

When Bruce woke up, his first reaction was (as it so often was when _this _happened) blind panic. But he'd gotten to the point where he could shut that down pretty fast. Panicking helped nothing, was usually counterproductive. And after an 'incident,' he needed to keep his wits and figure out where he was and what he needed to be doing.

"Dr. Banner," came a voice on his left. "Are you awake?"

It was Natasha. She sounded concerned, but not hostile. That was good. That was more than he could honestly expect, given what had happened.

Bruce managed something approximating a 'yes.'

Natasha chuckled. "I see. Can I get you anything?"

Bruce cracked his eyes open, squinting against the harsh fluorescent lights and taking in his surroundings. He was apparently in some kind of medical bay, if the equipment shoved in a corner was anything to go by. But he wasn't hooked up to anything, he was apparently just using the bed.

He wondered, briefly, if the door was locked. If he was allowed to leave, or if this wasn't exactly a 'visit' so much as it was 'detention.'

Then it occurred to him to check and see if he was wearing clothes. So often when he woke up after an 'incident,' he wasn't. And that was awkward.

But he was—a white t-shirt and blue pajama pants. So he _had_ lost his clothes at some point. Great. Well, at least he wasn't lying here naked.

"Dr. Banner? Bruce?"

Oh, right. He hadn't answered. Bruce gathered his strength—what was left of it post-transformation—and sat up. This made him dizzy, so he took a moment to recover before he answered, "Water?"

She held out the bottle she'd been carrying. Well, these SHIELD agents were nothing if not efficient. Bruce opened the bottle and took a long drink. Then he asked the first of two pressing questions. "Where am I?"

"SHIELD. Our LA headquarters," Natasha answered promptly. "We made a quick stop at our mission base and then brought you here."

Bruce nodded, and then asked the second. "Did I hurt anyone?"

Natasha shook her head. "No." Then she gave a half-shrug. "Well, Vanko's pretty banged up, but I wouldn't feel too bad about that, doc—he had it coming."

Surprised, Bruce asked, "Vanko's alive?" Most people, after meeting the Other Guy, weren't. His memories pre-transformation were vague, but he _did _remember Vanko. That he was still alive was...odd. Lucky.

"Yeah, he's in custody," Natasha answered. "He's not saying much, but he's implicated Hammer in helping him escape. We're assuming he got bored with Hammer and decided that going for round two with Stark was a more worthy pursuit." She smirked. "He was pretty surprised to meet you, though."

"Hammer?" Bruce asked, after a beat of silence, "Really?"

Natasha nodded. "Yeah, he's in custody, too. Stark's practically doing a victory dance, he's so thrilled with how that turned out."

The image of Tony doing a victory dance was lost on Bruce, because he'd just been reminded. Tony. And Pepper. Pepper had been there. Pepper had seen him. She wasn't dead—Natasha said he hadn't hurt anyone—but was she okay? Feeling suddenly as if he were choking, Bruce asked quietly, "Pepper?"

Natasha sighed. "She was pretty shaken up when you, uh, transformed. But she's fine. I got her to safety." She leveled Bruce with a look. "She's pretty angry that you didn't tell her about that particular aspect of your life. Gave Stark a pretty long lecture about it."

He'd nearly killed her, and she was lecturing _Tony_?

"She doesn't blame you," Natasha added, almost as an afterthought.

Bruce scoffed, "She should. I could have killed her. I could have killed Tony! It's a miracle—"

"How much do you remember?" Natasha asked, cutting him off.

Surprised by the interruption, Bruce paused. He didn't remember what had happened after the transformation, but his memories of what had happened before were coming back to him. Vanko stepping out into the driveway in his armor, with his whips. Vanko attacking the car. Pepper screaming. Natasha telling him to stay calm and him being entirely unable to do so. Lunging out of the car, trying to get away before something happened, but knowing it was _already _happening. Vanko snapping one of those whips at him, the pain as it smacked against his leg.

And then...nothing.

"I remember up to the whip," Bruce answered shortly.

Natasha nodded, and then filled him in on the rest of the fight. When she got to the part where the Other Guy and Vanko had taken out half of Tony's house. Bruce groaned. "Oh my god, I _knew _something like that would happen—"

"Stark doesn't mind," Natasha reassured him, frowning at the interruption. She kept going.

When she got to the part where the Other Guy had smacked Tony around, Bruce interrupted her again. "Is this supposed to make me feel better? He could have been killed!"

"Let me finish," Natasha ordered. Then she got to the part where he'd apparently finished smashing Vanko and had then followed Tony around like a particularly large, green dog.

Floored, Bruce said, "You're kidding."

"Nope," Natasha replied. "Once you saw it was him, you stopped attacking. Transformed back to human almost immediately afterwards."

Bruce shook his head. "No way. That's not even possible. I've been trying for _years_ and I've never managed _anything _like that."

Natasha shrugged. "Maybe all your work over the last few months has been paying off. Maybe it's something else. But you didn't hurt Stark. He's got a few bruises, but nothing major, and he's not really put off by it. He's been ranting and raving about how 'cool' you are, actually."

Groaning, Bruce drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, rocking back. "You're _kidding_."

This time, Natasha smirked. "Nope. You wanna talk to him? He was in the cafeteria, last I saw, trying to get his plane ready to fly to New York."

Bruce frowned. "He's...going to New York?"

"Yeah? Why?"

Shrugging, Bruce said, "Nothing. I just..." Had kind of gotten used to how things were, was what it was. But he should have known better. He'd taken out Tony's house, had knocked him around. He might not be _angry _about it, but of course it made sense that he wouldn't want Bruce around anymore.

"He wants you to go with him and Ms. Potts," Natasha added, after ascertaining that Bruce wasn't going to finish. "It's up to you, of course—not that _Stark _thinks so—but SHIELD is okay with the arrangement."

Surprised, Bruce looked up. "Really?"

"Which part?" Natasha asked. "SHIELD's approved the move, although they'd prefer to keep an eye on you." She grimaced a little. "New York isn't my favorite place, but Barton likes it there, so he'll be happy."

Bruce had actually been more surprised by the Tony-wanted-him-to-go-along thing, but Natasha's revelation was equally shocking. "You mean, you guys would come, too?"

"Stark threw a fit," Natasha replied. "But, yeah." Then, quieter, "I'm not sure it's necessary at this point—neither's Clint—but we follow our orders."

Huh. She didn't think acting like the world's creepiest security guard was necessary? That he didn't need the supervision? That was interesting.

"You should talk to Stark," Natasha advised quickly, before Bruce could comment on that. She gestured to a chair in one of the corners that Bruce hadn't looked at too closely before. "There's some clothes. Stark picked them, so I'm sure they're ridiculous. I'll wait outside."

And with that, she slipped from the room.

Bruce sat on the bed, dazed, for a few moments, just collecting his thoughts. He didn't know what was more surprising—that he hadn't killed Tony, that Tony still wanted him around after what had happened, or that SHIELD was going to just let him wander around their compound like he was _normal_. All of it seemed pretty strange.

Shrugging, Bruce got up and grabbed the clothes Natasha had indicated. Contrary to what she'd said, they weren't anything too bad—just khakis and a bright, acid green button down shirt (Tony probably thought he was funny)—and he put them on, grateful to be wearing real clothes. He found socks and a pair of brown shoes under the chair, so he put those on, too. Then he walked over to the door.

Half of him expected it to remain closed, locked, but it slid open for him, just as it had for Natasha. She was waiting just to the left of the door, and when he exited, she started walking and gestured for him to follow. "Cafeteria's this way."

They didn't encounter many people along their journey, and what people they did meet gave the pair a wide berth, but no one commented on his presence, for which Bruce was grateful. That probably had more to do with his escort than with common decency—Natasha seemed like the kind of person that no one wanted to mess with. That was fine; it ensured a quiet walk.

Tony was still in the cafeteria when they got there. He was with Pepper and a very disgruntled looking Happy, and Natasha left Bruce at the door, saying something about checking in with Coulson.

Bruce approached the group cautiously, unsure of his welcome, but he shouldn't have been. Tony saw him approaching and jumped up exuberantly. "Bruce! The man of the hour!"

Bruce ducked his head. Tony was acting like he was some kind of hero, and it was just awkward. "Tony, don't—"

Tony clapped him on the shoulder. "You want something to eat? The food here sucks, but there's a lot of it."

As a matter of fact, Bruce was starving, but he shook his head. "No, I'm fine, I just—"

Pepper tsked. "You should eat. After...after what happened, you have to be hungry. I'll go grab you something." As she passed, she gave his hand a quick squeeze, then headed towards the front of the room, where the food was. Looking quickly between her and Bruce and Tony, Happy followed.

Tony waved him off. "He's pissed off because SHIELD shut him out of the thing at home. He was supposed to be helping them with their perimeter, but one of their agents took a quick detour and more or less locked him in a closet to keep him out of the way." Tony shrugged. "Guess that's how it goes sometimes, right?"

Bruce wasn't sure what to say to that, so he said the first thing that came to his mind instead. "I'm sorry about your house."

"Don't be," Tony answered airly. "I've been meaning to, uh, remodel. Great opportunity to do it." More seriously, he added, "Besides, you saved my life. And Pepper's. You have nothing to be sorry for." He cocked his head to one side. "Well, except for not telling me how _fucking cool _you are. I mean, seriously. "

Bruce doubted that he'd saved Tony's life—he thought he'd _risked _it—but at this point, he knew better than to argue. Instead, he changed the topic to something safer. "You're going to New York?"

"No," Tony corrected. "We're going to New York. As in, you're coming with."

"I, uh, last time I was there, I kinda—"

"Harlem, yeah," Tony dismissed him. "Don't worry about it. Honestly. You worry too much."

In Bruce's opinion, he had a lot to worry about. But Tony was never going to see it that way. So he tried something else. "Natasha and Barton have to go, if I do."

Tony made a sour face. "Yeah. Well. That sucks. But..." he paused, then added reluctantly, "Romanoff's not so bad, I guess. I mean, she kept Pepper safe when Vanko attacked. But I don't get why they're so damn paranoid all the time. It pisses me off when they treat you like you're some kind of...monster."

"They're just following orders," Bruce said quietly. Then, because he thought it was pertinent, he added, "Natasha doesn't think I need a security detail."

Surprised, Tony asked, "Really?"

Bruce nodded. "She said so. Barton, too, apparently."

"Huh. Interesting."

At that moment, Pepper came back (alone; Happy had apparently wandered off), loaded down with a tray that seemed to contain the entire contents of the cafeteria. She set this in front of Bruce. "I wasn't sure what you wanted."

"Bob's not picky," Tony piped up. "But guess what, Pep? He said he'd come to New York with us."

Bruce actually hadn't, but that didn't really matter. There were about a million things that needed to be worked out, a million questions he needed to ask, but that didn't really matter, either. They'd get there. Maybe he'd take a leaf out of Tony's book and just go with it. After all, he'd just learned that maybe, _maybe_ he was making progress, might be developing _some _kind of control over his other half. That was good news. Great news, even.

So Bruce didn't voice his doubts, his myriad of concerns. At least right now. Instead, he said, "_Don't_ call me Bob."

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

**Reviews are, as always, the light of my life.**


	12. Back in the New York Groove

**Thanks to my beta, irite, for being betamazing, as always, and assuring me that this isn't terribad.**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

"It's not uh, as modern as home is," Tony warned Bruce, leading him up the stairs to the front door of the building. They'd just gotten in from LA, and they had only made a quick stop to drop Pepper off at her apartment near the East Coast headquarters before coming here. Which was good—Tony was feeling stiff and jet-laggy and didn't know if he could handle a lot of errands right now.

The house that the car from the airport had dropped them off in front of was located on East 81st Street. It was something Tony had acquired as a kind of home away from home, for when he had to spend more than a day or two in New York. He hated hotels passionately, hated the idea of sleeping in a bed that wasn't _his_. Plus their bars were never stocked with his brand, or if they were, there was never enough. So he'd acquired this place. Well, more accurately, Pepper had acquired this place. It didn't have all the chrome and glass, or the robots that made Malibu _home_. It was more...stone and iron. 'Homey,' yeah, but not really _his _style. He kept meaning to remodel, but he hadn't actually stayed here in a few years. He mostly lived on the West Coast, and after Afghanistan, well, he hadn't felt much like venturing far away from home. And he'd had more important things on his plate than picking out paint colors and new furniture.

Bruce didn't answer, and so Tony went on, "Anyway, this is only temporary, 'til the Tower's done." He unlocked the front door and waved Bruce through, pausing inside the door to enter the code for the alarm.

Happy and Olivia should have been here already; the two of them had agreed to help with the move, but were then returning to Malibu to help with cleanup there. So most of their stuff should have been delivered and unpacked already. At least, Tony hoped so. If he had to go on a magical mission to locate his boxers at 3:00 AM, he was going to be irate.

Bruce stepped into the entryway, eyes automatically drawn upwards by the high ceilings. He glanced around, taking in the dark wood floors and matching walls, the staircase that led up another two floors. Then he looked at Tony. "It's, um. Great."

Tony frowned. Bruce had been more quiet than usual while they'd made the arrangements to travel, not that he was usually chatty to begin with. He'd been almost silent during the flight across the country, despite Tony's best attempts to make conversation. At first, Tony had figured he was just tired—the amount of energy required for his body to what it had done had to be enormous. But Bruce had gotten two square meals and a full night's sleep since he'd woken up at SHIELD's LA headquarters, plus the nap he'd taken during the flight, and he still seemed a little...off.

Well, it _had _been a hectic day or two. First, Tony had needed to come up with an explanation as to why half of his house had been demolished. He claimed 'gas leak' and SHIELD somehow managed to make that happen, which Tony found a little off-putting. He still wasn't 100% okay with them, and he didn't like _owing _them for making this problem go away, but at the moment, he didn't see that he had a choice. The police and fire responders probably wouldn't have taken 'a large, green rage monster and an evil Russian with electric whips knocked it over' as a valid excuse for what had happened to his house.

Once that had been settled, Tony had needed to talk to his insurers, had needed to arrange contractors to get everything put back together. He let Olivia take care of most of that, with some help from Pepper, because Tony wasn't really big on that sort of thing. He knew he _had _insurance, he just wasn't clear on the particulars.

Like...who he was insured _by._

After that, they'd all needed to come up with a plan to get to New York. Tony had a house there, sure, but it needed to be opened up and prepared for habitation. Sending Happy and Olivia ahead took care of that. Then they'd had to pack, dodging the fire inspector and other officials poking through the remains of Tony's house, trying to find enough stuff that hadn't been damaged by the 'explosion' to bring with them. Then they'd had to arrange transport for some heavy duty items, like Bruce and Tony's lab equipment. Tony wasn't sure how long they were going to be in New York, but he wanted his toys with him. Unfortunately, the space constraints in the basement in New York meant he had to prioritize what he was taking, because it would have been kind of a dick move to make Bruce leave all his shit behind.

With all of that, maybe Bruce _was _still tired. Tony considered switching Bruce's decaf tea out for the good stuff to test his hypothesis, then decided against it. He'd met Bruce's alter ego, and for the moment, he'd prefer to avoid reacquainting himself—if the caffeine didn't do it, the knowledge that Tony'd been screwing around with Bruce's stuff might just piss him off enough.

He shelved that idea. Well, at least until his bruises healed.

So, shrugging to himself, Tony started down the hall, beckoning for Bruce to follow. "Come on, I'll give you the tour."

The ground floor contained the living room, dining room, kitchen, and guest bathroom. The kitchen, Tony was pleased to see, had been freshly stocked with all of his favorite foods, including the peach ice cream that, by all means, should not exist.

That made Tony furrow his eyebrows. Romanoff had continued to deliver the ice cream even after she'd stopped being his assistant. Partly because Bruce liked it, but mostly, Tony was certain, to fuck with him. It just magically appeared, and she never told him where she was getting it. Then again, he'd never really asked her, had he?

Nah, he'd been too busy being as much of an asshole as possible. Something she and Agent Birdbrain _maybe _hadn't deserved.

_Maybe_.

But that wasn't something Tony was willing to go into right now. He'd already agonized over them enough.

At first, Director Fury had offered to set the two agents up in SHIELD housing, saying that they could alternate guard shifts from there. But, surprisingly, Tony had suggested something else. His house had six guest bedrooms, and even with Bruce staying there, that left five open. So he'd invited the two of them to stay with him, instead.

He'd been almost as surprised by his offer as Fury had. But it kind of made sense. After Romanoff had saved Pepper's life, Tony had begun to think that maybe she wasn't so bad. Maybe.

That had only been confirmed when Bruce had told him that she wasn't too keen on the whole 'watch Banner 24/7' thing.

Also, Barton apparently felt the same way. Tony still thought he was pretty much an asshole, but at least he seemed to go along with Romanoff.

If nothing else, Tony found that interesting enough to want the two of them closer, for purposes of observation. And _maybe _part of him felt bad for how he'd been treating the two agents for the last three months, when they were just trying to do what they'd been ordered to, but it was a tiny part. Tony Stark did not _do _'sorry.' Mostly, he just wanted to watch them. They were going to be watching him, so why not return the favor?

Nothing weird about that at all.

Fury had agreed, and Romanoff and Barton followed orders with irritating predictability, so that had been it.

And it was too late to back out now.

Seemingly reading Tony's mind, Bruce asked, "Where are Natasha and Barton?"

Tony shrugged, trying to shake off the lingering irritation at SHIELD. He'd set this up, he'd deal with it, even if his own impulsivity made him want to kick himself in the ass. "They've been here. The creepy ice cream says as much. They might be upstairs. Or maybe they had to go into the office for a briefing or something. I don't know, and frankly, I don't really care. Come on, I'll show you the rest of the house."

The second floor was all bedrooms and bathrooms, and Bruce's luggage was piled haphazardly in the middle of the hallway, waiting for him to pick a room. Tony snorted at the care his hired hands had put into unloading. The third floor had the master suite (Tony's things were thrown in the middle of the bedroom) and an office, which appeared to be largely untouched.

"I do most of my work in the basement," Tony explained in response to Bruce's raised eyebrow. Honestly, the man couldn't actually believe that he'd ever work in an _office_.

The basement had been converted into a workshop, lit with bright fluorescent lights and filled with stainless steel tables, on which a wide variety of tidbits were scattered. It wasn't anywhere near as large or well-stocked as his workshop in Malibu, because he didn't spend a lot of time here, and when he did, he wasn't usually working. But it had the basics, including the electrical hookups for the machinery that was still en route.

Tony was always prepared.

After the tour, Tony set Bruce up in one of the bedrooms on the second floor. A quick survey revealed that Romanoff and Barton had claimed the two rooms at the end of the hall, furthest from the stairs—the doors were closed, and Tony wasn't going to risk opening them—so Tony put Bruce in the room closest to the stairs.

Best to keep them segregated.

Tony left Bruce to get settled in and went to unpack his own stuff.

First, though, he made a quick stop in the workshop to get JARVIS online. He didn't have his robots here (yet), and he didn't have the complex security system he had at home, but he'd taken the time to install enough hardware for JARVIS to run reasonably well. After all, he'd needed _someone _to talk to when he was staying here. And Tony never knew when he'd need something hacked or...something.

Never leave home without JARVIS, that was Tony's motto. And he didn't, really. But the mobile version on his phone wasn't always enough.

After he'd done that, Tony headed up to the third floor and started going through the suitcases he'd thrown together before flying out. Most of his wardrobe was still in Malibu, but if he needed anything, he could send for it easily enough. Olivia was going to be there. Or he could just buy new stuff.

He located the necessities and tossed them haphazardly into drawers, then moved into the bathroom to start unloading toiletries and the like. For a moment, Tony regretted sending Olivia back to Malibu—he'd _just _gotten Pepper replaced with an efficient, effective, non-government agent assistant, and now he was on his own again. If he had his assistant, _she _could unpack for him. And how the hell was he supposed to get food?

Well. He had enough food for a couple of days, and after that, maybe he could convince Pepper to go shopping for him.

_You can't honestly expect the CEO of your company to buy your groceries._

No, Tony had to admit to himself, he couldn't. Pepper was going to be busy. She had meetings and...all kinds of other stuff that Tony had avoided while he was CEO but Pepper seemed unwilling to shirk.

Maybe he could venture out, then. Maybe take Bruce with him. It might be...fun.

Yeah, right.

Then again...he'd been a recluse now for almost a year, had spent the time since the Senate hearing hiding and licking his wounds. Maybe now was the time to get back out in the world. The 'explosion' at his house was surely on the news (Tony didn't care enough to check), so people would be expecting him to react to that somehow. He'd just been quite literally shaken from his comfort zone. Perfect time to get back on his horse.

Or something.

Finishing up in the bathroom, Tony headed back down to the second floor to check on Bruce. It was almost 8:00 PM Eastern Time—the time change was a bitch—and Tony was thinking he could go for a dinner delivery and then maybe bed. The horse would wait until he didn't have massive jet lag.

The physicist was in his bedroom, curled up on the bed, sound asleep. His clothes had all been neatly put away—most of Tony's were still strewn around his room—and everything was organized and clean.

_Typical_.

The only thing out of place in the room was Bruce himself; Tony got the impression he hadn't meant to fall asleep. His glasses were still perched on his nose and he was still wearing shoes, something that Tony thought the inimitably fussy Bruce Banner would not allow under normal circumstances.

Rather than wake Bruce, Tony left him to his nap. He headed down to the kitchen to either see what takeout menus he still had lying around or ask JARVIS to find a nearby Thai place or something.

He was surprised when he got to the kitchen to find Romanoff and Barton there, eating an enormous pizza at the small breakfast nook in the corner of the room.

"Didn't hear you come in," Tony greeted them, frowning. He'd given them a key, of course, and the codes for the security system, but he thought that he'd have at least heard the door open or something. He supposed he should have known better. They were super secret government agents, they probably didn't slam doors. Or use them at all, probably just walked through walls.

"Sorry," Romanoff apologized, not sounding sorry at all. "We just got back from HQ." She nodded at Barton. "Would have been here when you and Bruce showed up, but _he_ demanded I feed him. And apparently he wasn't hungry enough that he didn't feel like driving across the whole city for a certain kind of pizza."

"Hey," Barton interjected unexpectedly, "This pizza is amazing. Have some respect."

Romanoff shrugged and took a small bite of her gigantic slice of pizza. Chewing, she asked Tony with a shadow of a smirk, "Did you find your ice cream?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Very creepy. That's not gonna stop me from eating it, but it's creepy, Romanoff." He loved that ice cream. Nothing was going to stop him from eating that shit, except maybe cyanide.

And he checked for that. Regularly.

Suddenly, as if the three of them had become aware that they were having a civil conversation—the first civil conversation they'd had in almost four months of interaction—everyone went silent, staring down at their food or, in Tony's case, out a window.

After a beat, Tony cleared his throat. "Uh, Bruce is sleeping. I was gonna grab some dinner, so, uh, yeah. Bye." He could order dinner from his workshop, no need to linger here.

There was another beat of silence before Tony turned on his heel. Before he could go, though, Barton spoke up. "Want some pizza? Unless you think you're too good for this pizza? No, Stark, this pizza is too good for _you_."

Tony turned back around slowly. "Excuse me?"

But Barton was actually...smiling. Well, smirking. Still, it was a facial expression other than 'flat indifference,' and Tony found that startling.

Well, maybe Barton was finally developing a personality. Maybe it only took watching a crazy Russian and a rage monster throw down to crack his asshole exterior.

Romanoff reached across the table and smacked Barton on the back of the head. "Shut up. Since when do you share? You barely share with _me_."

Now Tony was curious. He took a few steps back into the kitchen and, ignoring Romanoff's death glare (she was protective of her pizza, apparently), grabbed a slice of pizza and took a bite.

Barton was right; it _was _amazing. Probably the best pizza Tony had ever had, and he'd used to get pizza flown in special from New York to Malibu, he'd thought it was _that _good. Quickly, he flipped the box closed to see where it came from, but the box was unmarked. Tony let out an annoyed huff.

Still smirking, Barton said, "Yeah, that's gonna stay my little secret."

"Not fair, Barton," Tony growled. He had one slice, and now he wanted a whole pizza. Hell, he needed to buy the shop. How had he never had this before? It was like a god among pizzas.

"Doubt you could find the place anyway, Stark. It's kinda off the beaten path. Especially for someone like you."

Tony wasn't quite sure what the meant, but he had an idea. And he didn't like it. "The hell's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"You know," Barton replied easily. "Rich assholes? Don't usually venture too far from their brownstones. And their favorite espresso bars."

Turns out under the asshole exterior, Barton was just an asshole. That was fine. Tony could relate to that. He opened his mouth to make a snarky (and probably inappropriate) reply, but Romanoff cut him off. "Play nice, idiots. Look. We're going to be living together for who knows how long. Can you two _not _try to out-macho each other for the entire time?" She rolled her eyes. "Maybe we could all start by addressing each other by our names?"

Tony frowned, but found Romanoff's withering glare a touch intimidating. "Fine," he capitulated. "Natasha. Birdbrain." He grabbed another slice of pizza, piling it on top of his mostly-uneaten first slice, and slipped away.

If this was what living with SHIELD's best was going to be like, Tony wondered if he could find a way to rescind his invitation. Sure, Romanoff—Natasha—had kept Pepper safe when Vanko attacked, and Birdbrain had been kinda useful, too. And hell, maybe the two of them weren't the brainwashed Treadstone-Bourne-Identity-esque government agents that he'd originally thought they were. But geez, that sure as hell didn't mean they were _likable_.

"Rich asshole, right," Tony mumbled to himself, heading down to his workshop. "Whatever. _I'm _the asshole?"

That, Tony knew, was completely inaccurate.

* * *

"That guy's an asshole," Clint muttered under his breath, after Stark—_No, Tony. You need to play by the same rules you're making Clint use—_was far enough away that he _probably _couldn't hear.

Still, Natasha chastised him, "Clint, act your age."

"Never," he stated with finality. "'Cause who'd keep Phil young, then?"

Natasha shrugged. Clint took special delight in exasperating their handler. It wasn't something she understood, even if it _was _fun to play along on occasion. "Whatever. But don't bait him. He's letting us stay here—"

"He didn't have to," Clint interjected. "God only knows why he _is_. Probably gonna have us implanted with tracking devices or something. And damn it, I was trying to be _nice. _I gave him my pizza, didn't I?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "I'm sure implanting us is a priority for him right now. I don't care why he's doing it, I'm just glad we don't have to stay at HQ. The barracks are cold this time of year." That wasn't entirely true—the first part, not the second, the barracks _were _cold. But Natasha did care why Tony had decided to keep them on site. She had her suspicions. Mostly, that he was testing them. That man had a truly impressive set of trust issues when it came to the government, and she figured he'd decided that it would be easier to control government agents if they lived with him.

She had no intention of being controlled, of course, and neither did Barton, which was why Fury had agreed to the arrangement. He had the utmost faith in them to remain loyal to SHIELD, even while living with a mad scientist with an anti-government vendetta.

And they would. They both owed the agency too much to turn their backs. But that didn't mean Natasha couldn't appreciate some...distance from them. Specifically regarding Bruce. She'd been getting to know the man since December. Now she'd seen the monster. And even after that, she wasn't entirely convinced that SHIELD's actions regarding the physicist were entirely appropriate. The security detail seemed unnecessary, to start with. The man hadn't been triggered to transform until he'd been physically attacked by a heavily-armed opponent. Hell, he put up with Stark—_Tony_—on a daily basis, he had to have iron control or something.

So she was going to draw her own conclusions about that. She'd watch Bruce, sure. But she'd also be trying to learn if 1. SHIELD was wrong and 2. if she could sway them to change their official stance.

Living with Tony was conducive to that goal, so she wasn't going to complain. Besides, the accommodations were _fantastic_. This was probably one of the nicest places she'd stayed while she wasn't undercover.

Clint raised an eyebrow at her proclamation. "I'm sure you 'don't care.' I'm sure you're just completely willing to accept his good will with no questions, right? Because you never question anything."

"Right," Natasha agreed, deadpan.

"Like, you're certainly not questioning whether or not we need to be here at all."

"Fury says we do," Natasha answered, narrowing her eyes. Damn mind reader, that's what Clint was. Or he just knew her too well.

"And Fury's always right about everything."

"No," Natasha disagreed. "But you know where he gets _his _orders. Not a lot we can do about that. All we can do is work from the ground up."

"Sounds like a blast," Clint mused, taking a swig from the bottle of water he'd been nursing. "Actually, it sounds subversive."

"Not subversive. Just...double checking." With that, she glanced at the clock. It was early, but she was tired. "I'm heading to bed. Wake me up if I'm not up by 8:00, and I'll take the next 'shift.' Might as well do what we're supposed to while we're here."

"Sure," Clint agreed.

Natasha stood and stretched, then headed towards the hall. Before she slipped out the door, though, she turned around. "Could you maybe refrain from antagonizing our host, though? I don't know how long we're going to be stuck on this detail and I think it'd be better if it wasn't awkward as hell."

"We're gonna be here forever, probably," Clint predicted gloomily. "I'm never going to get to shoot anything ever again. But yeah. I'll play nice, don't worry."

"That's all I'm asking," Natasha said.

And she knew she could count on him to do as he said he would.

Now, if only Tony would play nice, too, maybe this could go smoothly.

Yeah, fat chance.

* * *

Bruce woke up absurdly early. His body thought it was even earlier. His body still thought it was yesterday, actually. 2:00 AM on the East Coast was 11:00 PM in Malibu, and he felt discombobulated. His brain was trying to tell him it was late evening, not ungodly early morning.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep when he'd gotten here. That was about the worst thing you could do with jet lag. But he'd been unpacking, and then he'd just decided to lay down for a moment...which had turned into six hours, apparently.

Oh well, couldn't be helped now. And he _had _been tired since his transformation a day ago. Or had it been two? Tough to say at this point. But it always took a lot out of him, and he hadn't really gotten a chance to recover before Tony had been packing him up and dragging him across the country.

Tony had been nothing short of exuberant through the whole process, and Bruce had questioned his energy. Then he'd moved on to envying it. But then, he'd seen Tony's caffeine consumption. Bruce was tempted to get a blood sample, just to see the concentration of caffeine in his blood.

The billionaire hadn't been at all fazed by what had happened to his house, waving off Bruce's apologies and muttering about his awesome insurance. He hadn't been fazed by what had happened to him, either, despite the bruises on his face serving as a bright, colorful visual reminder.

At least, they reminded Bruce.

He tried not to think about it, tried to be as casual as Tony was, but that just wasn't how he was built. He worried. With good reason, usually.

Sure, things hadn't gone as badly as they could have, but he didn't know if he could attribute that to himself, or if it had just been the result of a freak stroke of good luck. And there was no way he _could _come to know for certain.

So he worried. It made him awkward. Standoffish. Even Tony, with his tendency to casually disregard how other people felt, had noticed, though he'd demonstrated a huge amount of tact and hadn't said anything.

Bruce didn't know how long that would last.

Stretching, he slowly uncurled from the awkward position he'd slept in and stood up. His glasses had been digging into his face all night, and a quick look in the bathroom mirror showed their imprint on his cheek. His hair was a disaster, his clothes rumpled.

For 2:00 AM, he thought he looked pretty good.

Without making a real attempt to straighten up, he finished his business in the bathroom and then headed downstairs. He hadn't eaten since they'd been in California—he didn't particularly care for airplanes, and hadn't felt like eating en route—and it had been a long time since then.

Thinking vaguely of peanut butter and jelly, he made his way into the kitchen. He was surprised to see that there was a light on.

He was even more surprised to see that someone was sitting in there.

"Er, good morning," Bruce greeted Barton awkwardly, suddenly reminded of the fact that his hair was sticking up in six hundred different directions and he might very well have drool on the collar of his shirt.

Barton was seated at the small table in the corner, boots propped up on the table, apparently deeply engaged in the crossword puzzle from the newspaper. He didn't look up when he answered, "Morning."

It wasn't often that Bruce encountered people worse at conversation than he was. Barton was noteworthy in that respect. Bruce considered just ignoring him and continuing on with his quest for breakfast/dinner/whatever, but that set even his poor social compass off kilter. He sighed. "Um, trouble sleeping?"

Barton still didn't look up. "Nah. Nat's sleeping. Figured we might as well pretend like we're actually doing our jobs and 'guard' something. I took first shift."

This was, without a doubt, the longest sentence Bruce had ever heard Barton utter. Unfortunately, all Bruce could think of to say in return was, "Ah."

Now Barton looked up, though. "There's some leftover pizza in the fridge. Best in New York."

Bruce felt his eyebrows creeping up. "Really?"

"No, I'm lying."

There were several beats of uncomfortable silence in which Bruce wondered if Barton was screwing around with him before Barton shook his head and smirked. "Seriously. Go for it. Even I couldn't finish that monster, and if you eat it, then I'm at least sure Stark won't." He frowned, then corrected himself with a grimace, "'_Tony' _doesn't." He shrugged. "Damn communal living, am I right?"

"Uh, sure," Bruce agreed, opening the fridge and pulling out the 'monster' pizza. It was the biggest pizza he'd ever seen, and opening the box revealed that a fair amount had been eaten already. "You made a pretty impressive dent in it, though, even if you didn't finish."

Barton waved him off. "I let Nat have some. And then I stupidly thought I'd be nice and give some to Stark. 'Tony.' Damn it."

The way Barton—_or is it 'Clint' now that Tony's not 'Stark' anymore_?—talked about Natasha was distinctly fond. The way he talked about Tony was markedly less so. The contrast was enough to make him chuckle. He grabbed a couple pieces of the pizza and a bottle of water and, after a brief hesitation, sat down across from Barton.

Clint.

Whatever.

Bruce made it through almost an entire piece of pizza before Clint spoke again. "You know a seven-letter word for 'part of the Spanish armada?' Third letter is 'L.'"

"...Galleon?" Bruce suggested, after considering.

"Gotcha," Barton said, filling in the spaces.

This entire situation was surreal. In the entire time Bruce had known the two government agents, Clint had barely moved beyond terse nods and monosyllables. Now, Bruce was helping him with the New York Times crossword puzzle at 2:00 in the morning. And this was _after _the whole green rage monster thing had happened. He'd been expecting _more _hostility, not less.

But then...it wouldn't be the first time he'd been surprised by these SHIELD agents. They didn't seem to have a lot in common with the government operatives he'd had run-ins with in the past. In that they seemed human. Even Clint, who'd, as Natasha had said, 'had a stick up his ass' since January. And if Clint wasn't going to hold the his latest 'incident' against him, then...maybe no one really did. Maybe Tony really didn't.

Maybe all of this was going to be all right. Maybe.

So Bruce shrugged out some of the tension in his shoulders and started his second piece of pizza.

And when Clint asked for a four-letter word for an edible root that ended in 'O,' Bruce only hesitated a moment before suggesting, "...Taro?"

Clint's scribbling was his only answer.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! And following/favoriting.**

**The next chapter may be delayed; I haven't started it yet, and the next week is going to be pretty busy. I'll try to make it on time, but no promises.**

**Reviews are the sun that warms my cold, frozen heart.**


	13. Waking up strong in the morning

**Thanks to my beta, irite, for helping me keep the characters in line. **

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

"I swear to god," Tony fumed, stomping across the workshop and throwing himself into his computer chair, "If Barton puts his fucking boots on my fucking furniture _one more time_—"

"You really need to calm down," Bruce said placidly from where he was perched in front of his computer.

"Easy for you to say! It's not like—" This time, Tony cut himself off. For once, he realized the ridiculousness of what he was saying. "Okay. Fine. You're right. Calm. It's just," he paused, trying to remove the whine from his voice and failing, "The boots I could handle. But I got back from Malibu at 3:00 this morning, and I think I saw Romanoff—"

"Natasha," Bruce corrected, eyes still glued to the screen in front of him.

"Natasha, jesus, okay, I think I saw her carrying explosives into her room. C4, I think."

Now Bruce looked up. "Is that a problem?"

Was that a problem? Was he _serious_?

Bruce added, "I mean, you set the kitchen on fire last Saturday. And I could, uh, you know. Have an incident." He said this almost casually, which surprised Tony.

He didn't mention it, though. Instead, he asked, eyebrows raised, "What's your point?"

Shrugging, Bruce said, "I don't really think either of us can really, um, judge. When it comes to potential dangers. Besides," he added, with a half smile, "I trust her with explosives more than I'd trust you."

"Traitor," Tony mumbled. But he didn't hold it against Bruce, not really. Hell, even he wasn't too worried about whatever the hell Natasha was doing with C4 in her room; she was responsible enough to not blow up his house. He _was _bothered by Clint's seeming inability to keep his damn boots off the damn furniture, though. Sure, he had a housekeeper, but she only came by twice a week. "The boots on the table are disgusting."

Bruce turned back to his data, the picture of calmness. "Did you ask him not to do it?"

"...Yes," Tony lied.

"Don't lie," Bruce admonished.

"Fine," Tony admitted, spinning in his chair. "I just passive-aggressively sulked out of the room, are you happy?"

Passive-aggressive sulking was one of the few ways that Tony had had discovered helped him manage living with the two agents from what had to be the most covert government agency in the world. Other strategies included drinking and working for up to 48 hours straight without either food or sleep.

Tony was so good with coping strategies.

It wasn't that they were _bad _houseguests. Well. Except for the boots on the table and the explosives. Mostly, they were quiet and neat. SHIELD covered their expenses, so it wasn't like Tony was actually paying for them to be here (not that it mattered, really). It was just...

Up until last December, Tony had always lived alone. Then he'd more or less acquired Bruce, which had been new and different, but he'd been willing to do it, if only because it was supposed to piss off SHIELD. Even when that had fallen through, he'd decided to let Bruce stay, because as it turned out, he actually liked him. Now they'd been roomies for about five months, and Tony wasn't quite sure what he'd done before having a live-in physicist to run his ideas by. Or, more accurately, before he'd had a live-in physicist to shoot his ideas down.

But the two SHIELD agents...they were a different story. Tony didn't have a whole lot of room to relate to them. SHIELD had given him and Bruce something in common—the new element they'd invented—but Tony had no such prefabricated common ground with Natasha and Clint. And the fact remained that, even though they'd expressed some reservations about their assignment, they were still there essentially to guard Bruce. Which Tony resented.

So even if it was kind of stressful, he wanted to keep them close. At least then, he'd know what they were up to and whether or not it was anything he had to worry about.

Thus far, he _hadn't _had anything to worry about. JARVIS kept an eye on them, and Tony had it on pretty good authority that the reports they were submitting to SHIELD about Bruce were almost entirely along the lines of 'we don't actually need to be here.' Coulson had put the kibosh on hacking SHIELD's servers...he hadn't said anything at all about their e-mail accounts.

Tony wasn't _just _spending his time spying on the SHIELD agents, though. When he wasn't using JARVIS to monitor the SHIELD agents, he worked. He was getting closer and closer to his goal of manufacturing a suit that would come when called. For now, he was working on engineering the suit to respond to a signal from a pair of bracelets he could wear, but it was his ultimate goal to find a way for that signal to come from his actual body. It wasn't something he'd told either Bruce or Pepper, since he thought that they'd think it was stupid, or dangerous, or both. Hell, it probably was, but that had never stopped him before. And he suspected he was going to need Bruce's help before he was done, but he was putting that off as long as possible. No need to alarm his live-in physicist, after all.

In the interim, he'd had his new suit shipped in from Malibu, and he'd made a new design that incorporated the new modifications. He wasn't sure _why _he might need a new suit—it wasn't like he was going to have to save the world or anything—but he thought it was better to be safe than sorry.

Besides, it wasn't like the government was going to be making Iron Man-esque suits any time in the near future, so they couldn't be depended upon for world saving. Ivan Vanko had implicated Justin Hammer in his escape, and some investigation into Hammer Industries had revealed some pretty illegal happenings. Hammer, to Tony's delight, had been taken into custody shortly after the incident in Malibu. The government had immediately backed out of their contracts with Hammer Industries, but not before the public had got wind of the whole thing. There had been a huge uproar, and the military had apparently decided that they weren't going to pursue that avenue of weapons manufacturing at all. At least until the fervor died down some.

Which was fine by Tony—he figured they were getting exactly what they deserved, for trying to steal his stuff. Sure, they hadn't lifted the cease and desist order on him, but that would come. In the meantime, he could relish them looking stupid.

When he wasn't working on the suit, Tony flew between Malibu and New York, overseeing repairs to his house and the construction of the new Stark Tower. He'd decided to run the Tower on clean energy, which meant he was designing an arc reactor to power a whole building, and that took up a fair amount of time, as well.

Pepper had agreed to his new designs, and she'd sold the contractors on them, as well. Tony wasn't sure where she found the time, in between meetings and international conference calls and interviews, but he was duly impressed. When he'd been in charge of the company, he hadn't done nearly so much work, but Pepper had always been a paragon of efficiency.

Tony was also trying to become somewhat less of a shut in recluse. The Howard Hughes thing really wasn't working out for him, and the New York social scene was just begging to be shaken up. A few times a month, Tony made it a point to go to some charity fundraiser, or a party, or _something_. More often than not, Pepper was there to 'chaperone.' Really, she was there because she was CEO (and thus invited; Tony tended to gate crash, though no one ever called him on it), but Tony found her presence to be a fairly strong deterrent from spiking the punch or any engaging in any other shenanigans he might feel like instigating. Instead, he generally made himself a nuisance by insisting that she dance with him, or by making her laugh inappropriately at his snarky comments on their fellow partygoers.

Once or twice, he'd managed to get Bruce to come along on these excursions, but the physicist wasn't really into that sort of thing. He was surprisingly adept at city living, though. Whereas Tony struggled with things like public transportation and overcrowded city streets (and the people who kept trying to _hand _him things), Bruce was surprisingly good at navigating both. To the point that Tony had started sending _him _out for groceries. He was always accompanied by either Clint or Natasha, but he didn't seem to mind the outings. At least, he never complained.

The only problem was, he tended to not purchase Tony's favorite foods, no matter how many times he wrote them on the list or how many colors he used.

"Anyway, passive-aggression isn't the answer," Bruce advised sagely. "You're usually more straightforward."

Tony realized he'd been musing to himself for too long and had missed part of what Bruce had said. "Sorry, what?"

Bruce sighed. "Nothing. I was just saying, you're usually more, er, blunt. I don't get where the passive-aggression is coming from."

That was a good point. "You know, I'm not sure. I just..." Tony shrugged, then stood. Bruce was right. He was a dick, and he needed to act like one. "I'll be right back."

He made his way back upstairs, to the living room, where Clint was sitting with Natasha on opposite ends of a couch, the two of them watching some action movie (and not doing a particularly good job of 'guarding' anything, Tony noted). Clint's feet were, predictably, on the damn coffee table.

"Feet off the furniture, bird boy," Tony snapped.

Despite Tony having attempted to make no noise in his approach, neither agent seemed surprised by his entry. Clint calmly lowered his feet to the floor. He turned around. "Sorry." Then, after a beat, "Did you just come up here to yell at me?"

"...Yes."

Clint turned back to face the television. "Wow."

Natasha leaned over and reached around behind him, smacking him on the back of the head. "Shut up."

As she settled back onto her side of the couch, her phone went off. She picked it up disinterestedly and looked at the message.

Then she stood and calmly inserted her phone into her pocket.

To Clint, she said, "I need to head into HQ. They've got...something."

Nothing suspicious about that at all, was there? Tony perked up immediately.

Clint pulled out his own phone and glanced at it. "What the hell? Why aren't I—"

Natasha glared at him. "Like they told me that. Look. One of us has to stay here, right? Evidently, it's going to be you. I'll text you when I can."

And with that, she was gone, brushing roughly past Tony with a muttered, "Excuse me."

"Geez, you people work weird hours," Tony mused, walking across the room and settling into a recliner. It was after 8:00 PM, after all. If he got called into work that late, he'd be pissed.

Well, not that he'd ever been called into work. And he worked pretty bizarre hours on his own. But the point stood.

Clint snorted, clearly agitated. "You don't know the half of it. This one time, in Budapest—" he cut himself off abruptly. "Never mind."

Tony was curious, now, both about Budapest and about whatever Natasha had been called away for. Clint didn't know anything about that, though, something that was clearly agitating him. Tony decided to needle him about the former point. "You can't just say something like that and not tell me the rest."

In response, Clint picked up his phone again, looking moodily at the screen before beginning to tap out a text message.

He ignored Tony completely.

_Jerk_.

Well, two could play this game. Tony could ignore Clint just as well as Clint was ignoring him.

With a huff, Tony crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back and turning towards the television.

Fifteen minutes later, he was still there, though now engrossed in what had to be one of the most overblown action movies he'd ever seen.

So much so that he'd forgotten that he was ignoring Clint. When the protagonist on screen began mowing down his enemies with a pair of guns that apparently never ran out of ammo, Tony snorted, "Damn, I need to find out who's making those infinite-round clips. Bet they're making a fortune."

"You think that's bad," Clint replied, "You should have seen the rocket launchers."

They settled back into a silence that was interrupted every few minutes with snarky commentary about the movie.

Neither one of them noticed they were almost having a normal conversation.

* * *

It occurred to Bruce, eventually, that Tony had been gone for...a while.

He glanced up at the clock. It was almost 9:00, which meant Tony had been gone for an hour. So much for being 'right' back.

Bruce frowned. Tony hadn't said what he was doing, and while there was _probably _no reason to worry...it was entirely possible that Tony had gone upstairs to confront Clint and was now, for some reason or another, holding the SHIELD agents hostage in the kitchen or something. Or, more likely, that Tony was being held hostage.

Personally, Bruce got along just fine with Clint and Natasha. With Tony in and out of the city, that left Bruce a fair amount of time alone with his secret agent babysitters, and their time together had thus far been...okay.

For example, Tony had spent the first week of April in Malibu. He'd offered to take Bruce with him, but Bruce hadn't felt up to another transcontinental flight. Had, in fact, felt rather vehemently against it, so he'd decided to stay behind. Clint took the opportunity to drag Bruce to his favorite pizza parlour, citing the fact that, "If you think this shit's amazing cold, you have to try it fresh." He'd been right, of course.

Still, it surprised him how _normal_ they were when there was no imminent threat, but maybe it shouldn't have. After all, Natasha spent a fair amount of time undercover (she'd told Bruce quite a few stories), so she kind of made a living getting along with people. And Clint apparently warmed up quickly, once you helped him with the crossword puzzle a time or two. So, yeah. Normal. And surprisingly easy to get along with.

But Tony was stubborn, and apparently intent on doing everything at his own pace and in his own way, which mostly entailed being a jerk.

Some people just don't mix well, and Tony didn't seem to mix well with anyone in a position of authority. The last six weeks or so had been interesting in that regard, watching Tony, Natasha, and Clint interact. Or, in most cases, _not _interact. It was amazing how three people inhabiting the same structure could ignore each other so thoroughly. If they weren't ignoring each other, they were annoying each other—and Bruce more often than not found himself on the receiving end of everyone's ranting.

Like Tony's complaining an hour ago.

With a sigh, Bruce stood and stretched, and turned off all his equipment. Then he headed for the stairs.

He tried to ignore the headache that was wedging itself behind his eyes.

In general, life in New York was going pretty well. He got out of the house a lot more than he had in Malibu. He'd had some nerves about it, sure, but after what had happened with Vanko, and everyone's subsequent reactions, he couldn't help but feel...more confident. Not a _lot _confident, but more. And Clint and Natasha encouraged him to go out, showed him a lot of their favorite places. Sure, he couldn't go anywhere _alone_, and that was hard to deal with, but the hermit thing he'd had going on since December was hard to deal with, too. In a lot of ways, his life was more normal now.

Probably the most normal it had been since his accident. And wasn't that weird? That _this _was 'normal.'

Bruce cautiously made his way upstairs, listening for the telltale sounds of a hostage situation. Or even just yelling. But there was nothing, except the sounds of a movie coming from the living room.

He decided to start there.

Amazingly, both Tony and Clint were in the living room, and there were no guns or other weapons drawn. In fact, they were both watching the movie, which looked to be some ridiculously overblown action flick with too many exploding cars.

Neither one of them registered his entrance, so Bruce shrugged to himself and settled down on an empty loveseat.

About five minutes later, after the movie's hero had just defused a bomb, Clint snorted, "Yeah, because that's _exactly _how that happens."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Right, I'm sure you defuse bombs all the time."

"Once or twice," Clint answered easily, glancing down at his phone, clasped loosely in one hand. "That's really more Nat's thing, though. I'm hardly ever within a thousand feet of the bomb."

Tony looked down at the tablet in his lap. "Your girlfriend's scary as hell."

"Don't let her hear you call her that," Clint warned. Then, quieter, "And you have _no _idea."

Bruce took a moment to scrape his jaw up off the floor from where it had fallen when these two had begun engaging in a civil conversation. In the weeks they'd been living together, Clint and Tony's interactions had been, in a word, acrimonious. This was entirely unprecedented. A quick survey of the room revealed that neither of them was drunk—unless there was something other than Coke in Clint's bottle of Coke—so really, there was no explanation for it.

Clint glanced down at his phone again, bouncing one leg impatiently.

Thankfully, the movie only lasted another fifteen minutes after the climatic bomb scene. It was more than enough time for Bruce, who wasn't a big fan of explosions in general.

As the credits began to roll, Clint stood up abruptly. He picked the remote up off the couch next to him and tossed it to Bruce, who missed it completely. He leaned over to pick it up off the floor.

"Geez, calm down there, Legolas," Tony snarked. "Where's the fire?"

"...Legolas?" Clint sounded bored. "Really? I've _never_ heard that one before."

Tony shrugged. "I was getting tired of the bird jokes. But if you want me to be more creative, I could make an attempt. Maybe start commenting on your hair instead?"

"Don't bother," Clint muttered, rubbing a self-conscious hand across the top of his head. He looked like he was going to say something else, but his phone interrupted him by vibrating in his hand. He checked the message quickly, eyes widening slightly as he read.

His shoulders dropped, tension leaving his body. He slipped his phone back into his pocket. Then, surprisingly, he sat back down.

"Good news?" Tony asked.

"Not bad news," Clint answered evasively.

"Come on, dude. Really?"

"Stark, I work for a top secret government agency. Do you really think I'm going to tell you what's going on?"

Tony frowned. "Probably not."

"But," he added with a sudden, bright grin, "That doesn't mean I can't find out anyway."

Bruce sighed. He'd hoped they were past this.

He was wrong.

* * *

When Natasha got to SHIELD's New York headquarters, she'd been prepared for the worst. The message from Coulson had been brief and to the point, as were all his messages, and didn't give a whole lot away. For all she knew, she could be heading into a dangerous undercover op in Sri Lanka or something.

Luck was in her favor, though. It wasn't anything dangerous. Of course, it took them almost an hour to get to that part, so she could text Clint one-handed under the table and let him know she wasn't about to get murdered on assignment or something. No, this wasn't something that was going to get her killed.

Well, probably not. Really, they couldn't know anything right now. Not until after _he _woke up.

Natasha shook her head. What were the odds? They'd called off the search decades ago. No one could have survived that plane crash, and no one could have survived the arctic conditions where the plane had gone down. Besides, it had been about seventy years since then. Time, if nothing else, would have proven fatal.

To a normal person, at least. Apparently, Steve Rogers was an exception. A very much _alive, _if unconscious,exception.

Natasha wasn't going to pretend to understand it. She didn't think the scientists did, really.

Coulson had met her outside the conference room, and he was almost, but not quite, smiling. Natasha picked up immediately that he was thrilled about something—it was unlike him to be so open with his emotions. The meeting was short and to the point—yes, we've found Captain America, no, he's not conscious, and yes, we expect him to regain consciousness in the next twenty-four to seventy-two hours. Then, Fury had assigned agents to watch over the newly-thawed supersoldier via video feed, in case he did prove disoriented or combative upon wakening.

Natasha had not been assigned to this detail, and so she wasn't entirely sure why she was here. Also, she wasn't sure how this was going to impact her current assignment.

Fury had responded to her questions with a frown and a terse, "It'll be in your mission briefing."

She didn't blame him for being a little on edge. Captain America was kind of a big deal. The only successful recipient of the super soldier serum, he was practically a legend. And he was somewhat more than an ordinary human. There were, Natasha reflected, an unusual number of those cropping up lately.

As in, any at all.

So she didn't take issue with Fury's attitude, and when a copy of Rogers's file landed on the table in front of her in the cafeteria, she read it cover to cover.

When her shiny new mission briefing appeared, she read that, too.

Then she went to talk to Fury, because this was the stupidest idea she'd ever heard. And she lived with Tony Stark. She'd heard a _lot _of stupid ideas since December.

"Sir," she said to Fury, voice even. "I appreciate that you're trying to keep Captain Rogers calm, but pretending that it's still the 1940s? And," she added, "I couldn't help but notice that I bear a _striking _resemblance to Peggy Carter. That's not why you've got me doing this, right? You don't honestly think he'd be fooled by that."

Fury frowned. "No. You're doing this because you're the best undercover agent we've got, and if anyone can do it, you can."

That was a relief, but she felt the first point still stood. "I don't think that lying to him is the best course of action, sir."

Fury stood his ground. "This is the plan, Romanoff."

She narrowed her eyes. "It's a bad plan. You can't know how he's going to react. I don't want any part of this, Fury. What if I decline the mission?"

"Then we'll get someone else." He sighed. "I don't want to do that. You're our best option."

"Why? You think I'm going to have to, what, knock him out or something?" She didn't relish the idea of taking Captain America down, though she didn't doubt she _could_.

"No. No one's going to be attacking him. We'll have agents with tranquilizers on call if we need them. Let's hope we don't. No, Romanoff, you have the acting chops to pull this off. He's going to be perceptive and on guard. We need our best out there."

Natasha knew he was flattering her to get her to do what he wanted—she saw straight through that. And she still didn't like the idea. When it went badly, she fully intended to exercise her 'I told you so' rights. But despite all of that, she nodded. Better her doing this than someone else. At least she knew she wouldn't screw it up too badly. "Fine. Sir."

Which was how Natasha found herself being outfitted with a 1940s-esque military uniform.

This was _just _how she wanted to be spending her time. It was ridiculous. But Fury assured her it was only a matter of hours until Rogers awoke, so that was a small comfort in the face of how completely improbable it was that this would actually work.

Still, she had some questions, and Fury didn't seem to be in the mood to chat. She went to find Coulson.

Coulson was watching Rogers.

And not via video feed, either.

Natasha smirked to herself. She was beginning to suspect that Coulson might be a secret Captain America fan.

They'd set Rogers up in this ridiculous room, straight out of the 1940s, as part of their stunning plan that familiar surroundings would help him adjust when he woke up. Coulson was sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed in this fake hospital room, reading through Rogers' file.

Natasha had this weird feeling that he'd already memorized the whole thing.

"Sir," she greeted him, stepping into the room.

"Natasha," Coulson returned, looking up briefly. "What's up?"

She glanced at the bed, where Rogers was still unconscious. It felt, she decided, very creepy to be in here. "This is kind of getting in the way of my work. I have another assignment." _And this farce is completely irresponsible, kind of cruel, and unlikely to work._

"I'm aware of that, agent," Coulson answered. Of course he was—he got the weekly reports. "But this is a priority right now."

Natasha had no doubt about that, but she also felt that Clint wouldn't appreciate being left in charge at chez Stark for more than twelve hours. "I know that, sir. But Barton—"

"Barton can manage on his own for a day or two." He paused, then added, "Your reports indicate that you think Banner doesn't require the level of supervision he's been receiving, so this is an opportunity to test that." Then, he smirked. "Besides, I'm sure Barton will appreciate the opportunity to bond with Stark."

"That's mean, sir," Natasha informed him, trying not to laugh. She sobered quickly, though, asking, "Is Director Fury okay with that?" He hadn't indicated anything of the sort during their brief meeting. Then again, it hadn't really come up. They'd been too busy arguing.

Coulson nodded. "He wants to get you two back into the field, but he can't do that until he's sure the situation with Banner is under control."

That was good news—Natasha wanted to get back into the field, too, and she knew Clint felt that way as well. Also, it was gratifying to hear that her reports were actually having an effect. For the last six weeks or so, she'd been saying that Bruce didn't pose an immediate threat, as long as no one threatened him, in pretty much those exact words. And given SHIELD's surveillance capabilities, it seemed like they could pretty easily keep an eye out for threats, instead of keeping an eye on Bruce. "I see," she said. "And he thinks it is? Under control?"

Coulson gave her a look with which she was very familiar—the 'I'm not supposed to be telling you this' look. Then he sighed. "He's coming around. But certain other people aren't. And they're pretty vocal."

Natasha wasn't sure if he meant General Ross or the World Security Council, the shadowy governing body from which even Fury took orders. One of those was easy enough to silence, the other...could be a problem. Given that Coulson actually seemed concerned, it was probably the Council. She made a small, thoughtful noise.

Coulson nodded. "It's tricky. So we're starting small. I've already contacted Barton to let him know what was going on."

That was too bad—Natasha had wanted to tell him herself. "How'd he take it?"

Shaking his head, Coulson answered, "I think all that time he's spending with Stark is having a bad influence on him."

Natasha didn't doubt it. "Well, you'd better get him back in the field, then. Or he might shoot Stark."

"Would that really be so bad?" Couslon asked, wearing an expression of long suffering.

She considered a moment, then shook her head. "No." Natasha gestured at the still-unconscious Captain Rogers. "When is he going to wake up?" She wanted to get a feel for how long she was going to be on this job.

"Honestly?" Coulson answered, "No one knows. There's never been a case like this before. They're saying one to three days, but he might not wake up at all."

"If he does wake up...what then?"

Coulson sighed. "Director Fury wants him on our team. But again, it depends. He's going to have a lot to adjust to, and we can't know if he's...going to be able to."

Natasha nodded slowly "In that case, I'm going to go get some sleep." There were rooms where agents on duty could catch a nap. "If he shows signs of waking, send me a message."

Coulson nodded and went back to his file.

Natasha turned to exit, but then had one more thing to ask. She just had to know. Facing him again, she said, "Sir. Are you...a Captain America fan?" She managed to keep the 'boy' part quiet. No one ever reacted well to being called a fanboy.

Coulson narrowed his eyes. "Why would you think that?"

Natasha shrugged. It seemed odd that she'd misread him. Normally, she didn't make mistakes like that. "No reason, I guess. Just curious."

He looked down. After several seconds of silence, he muttered, "Do you think he'll sign my trading cards?"

Natasha snorted a small laugh. She'd been right after all. "Are they vintage?"

"...Maybe."

And that, if nothing else, was enough reason to hope that Rogers would, in fact, wake up.

* * *

The radio was on.

Baseball, from the sound of it.

Steve cracked his eyes open slowly, trying to adjust to the brightly lit room. Something felt...off, though he couldn't quite place just _what _it was yet.

Of course, he was just barely awake, and there was a weird ringing in his ears that usually signaled some sort of head injury, so that might explain it.

He sat up, stiff and awkward. The room he was in was empty right now, but the chair at the foot of his bed seemed to indicate that _someone _had been here, at some point.

Glancing at the radio, something niggled in the back of his mind. This game. Seemed awfully familiar. In fact, it _was _familiar. He'd been there. He'd seen this game.

_What's going on? _

Was this some kind of a setup? Had he been captured after all?

The door on his right opened, and a woman stepped through. She was wearing a uniform, and looked a lot like Peggy.

But she wasn't.

"Good morning," she greeted him, then glanced at her watch. "Or should I say, afternoon."

_The accent is American..._

But accents could be faked.

Steve wasn't in the mood for pleasantries. There was something really strange going on here, and he might be in danger. He needed to get to the bottom of this. "Where am I?"

The woman smiled pleasantly. Maybe _too _pleasantly. "You're in a recovery room in New York City."

Steve looked out the window. It _looked _like New York, but...the game on the radio. That was wrong. "Where am I, really?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand." The woman smiled again, apparently nervous now.

But Steve wasn't buying it. This charade needed to stop. "The game," Steve said tersely, "It's from May 1941. I know, 'cause I was there."

The woman's whole demeanor changed. First, she looked surprised, but then her expression turned carefully neutral.

Steve stood up and approached her. "Now, I'm going to ask you again. Where am I?"

"Captain Rogers—" the woman began, pressing a button on something she held in her hand.

"Who are you?" Steve demanded, now seriously concerned. From what he remembered, this shouldn't be happening. He'd gone down in the ocean. He should be dead. If he wasn't, did that mean he'd been captured? Was this Hydra? They could pull something like this off...

The door behind them burst open, and two men entered, wearing clothes unlike anything Steve had ever seen. Not like anything Hydra wore. But they were armed.

Steve took a step back and surveyed them. Then he lunged forward, grabbing both of them by the front of their jackets and tossing them at a wall.

The wall gave out upon impact, and Steve took exactly one second to consider this before he leapt out of the hole and made a break for it.

He could hear the woman in the room calling him, then calling for backup, but he had to get out of here. He didn't know where he was, but he didn't like it. Too much weird stuff going on. And if it wasn't Hydra, it could be anyone.

Steve pushed his way through the crowded hallways, bodychecking anyone who attempted to stop him. The people he saw were dressed oddly, the building itself seemed strange, but he didn't stop to think about it. He just ran, following the oddly-lit 'exit' signs until he burst out onto the street.

The blare of car horns was almost overwhelming, and then he was in the street. He took off running. There were cars, and horns, and lights, and noise, and moving pictures on all of the buildings, and—

He was surrounded.

"At ease, soldier," came a voice from behind him. American, like the woman in the room.

Steve turned. The voice belonged to a black man, wearing a long black coat. He had an eyepatch over one eye. All of this was concerning—_who are these people?—_but Steve didn't know what to do.

"Sorry about that little show back there," the man said, approaching slowly, "But we thought it would be best if we broke it to you slowly."

"...Broke what?" Steve asked, still on guard, still somewhat discombobulated by all the _noise_.

"You've been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years."

The words hit Steve right in the chest. Seventy years? Of _sleep_? Was that even possible? He glanced around, taking in his surroundings. The lights. The moving pictures. He looked past all that, past the visual noise. This was...this was Times Square. And yet, not at all like he remembered it.

Yeah, it seemed like it _was _possible. This world was not the one he had inhabited. And in seventy years, well. Everything would have changed. Not just the buildings, and the clothes.

Everything.

"You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah..." Steve answered slowly, as all the pieces fell into place. As he began to comprehend exactly what this meant. "Yeah. It's just..."

"I had a date."

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

**I'm not going to have a chance to start the next chapter until Monday, and possibly not even until Wednesday, so I'm pretty certain the next chapter's going to be late for real this time. Sorry!**

**Reviews are always appreciated. I also accept cake.**


	14. Interlude: A Trip to the Grocery Store

**Thanks to my awesome beta, irite, for looking over this super quickly!**

**I'm still not done with the next full chapter, so please have a brief interlude to tide you over until next week!**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

Bruce frowned at the shopping list in his hand. "Tony added 'Cheetos' to this four times. In different colors. He underlined it." He took his phone out of his pocket and checked his text messages. "And he's reminded me to pick them up. Twice."

Natasha snorted. "He's persistent." She looked at her own list. "Clint wants popsicles. I'm going to get him the sugar free ones and piss him off. He'll eat them anyway."

Bruce chuckled. "You should get him frozen fruit bars."

Natasha tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I like the way you think."

Turning back to his own list and cocking his head to one side, Bruce mused, eyebrows raised, "So, does this mean I should get four bags of Cheetos, do you think?"

Tony, of course, would have said 'yes' vehemently, but he wasn't here. This was because Tony and Bruce had gone grocery shopping together a few weeks ago, and it had been an unmitigated disaster.

They'd gotten lost on the way to the store, somehow, and when they'd finally managed to get there, Tony had complained endlessly about the crowding, about the loud children, about the weird smells.

To Bruce, all of this was a non-issue; life in the third world had mostly desensitized him to noise and odors. And crowds. In fact, he was almost zen about the whole thing. Except for Tony. And his whining.

Really, considering Tony was wearing huge sunglasses and a $2000 suit in an urban grocery store, Bruce felt that he had no room to complain about the other customers. If anyone here was out of place, it was Tony.

The worst part, though, had been when they were paying for their purchases and Tony had become flummoxed by the credit card machine. It asked him for his PIN, and of course Tony didn't know it. Personal Identification Numbers were for plebeians, he'd insisted loudly, trying to text Olivia for the information, apparently unaware of the eight people in line behind them.

Shaking his head, Bruce had reached around him to run the card through as 'credit' instead of 'debit,' hence resolving the issue. By then, he was so embarrassed that when Tony told the cashier to put the receipt in the bag because he 'didn't like being handed things,' a few moments later, Bruce was beyond caring. He just slipped out the door silently, carrying his bags, leaving Tony to carefully pick up his share of the load and run after him, calling for 'Bob.'

Bruce had sped up out of spite.

Later, he'd laughed about it with Natasha and Clint, but at the time, he'd been almost as embarrassed as he was when he woke up in a strange locale, post-transformation and sans pants.

For once, Tony exhibited some self-awareness (or more likely, Pepper talked to him) and acknowledged that he'd been the problem—he was 'unaccustomed to doing his own shopping'—and suggested that, henceforth, Bruce go on his own. So he'd set Bruce up with a debit card and a cell phone, and had then sent him on his merry way.

This was something that Bruce was not opposed to, because shopping with Tony was probably one of the more stressful activities Bruce had engaged in recently.

The problem was that, well, Tony was never _truly_ absent. He was, in fact, almost omnipresent. As evinced by his additions to the shopping list.

And the text messages he was sending literally every five minutes. Or, more likely, had told JARVIS to send every five minutes.

"I think," Natasha answered Bruce's question, "That you should skip the Cheetos and get extra bananas instead."

At first, Bruce had always gotten exactly what was on the list, but it soon occurred to him that he was buying a _lot_ of processed foods. Most of which contained strange ingredients. 'High fructose corn syrup' was bad enough, but 'high fructose corn syrup _solids_'? Ew.

He'd voiced his concerns to Natasha, who'd agreed with his assessment that those items were not fit for human consumption. "They're not," Natasha conceded with a frown, "Even fit for _Tony's_ consumption."

It had actually been her idea that he should start 'forgetting' those items that Tony insisted were part of a 'healthy' diet, and Bruce had obliged. He probably wouldn't have done it on his own—it wasn't in his nature to make waves—but he _did_ find it funny.

And Tony's increasingly colorful efforts to get Bruce to 'remember' were pretty funny, too.

It seemed like, after living with Tony for four or five months, Bruce was finally loosening up enough to enjoy teasing his host.

"You're right," Bruce agreed, shoving the list back in his pocket. "To the produce section?"

* * *

**Thanks for reading! The next full chapter should be done by next Wednesday, sorry about the delay!**


	15. Our Father's Heroes

**Thanks to my beta, irite, for being ever so helpful.**

**Sorry about the lack of real chapter last week. And sorry about being so bad with responding to reviews lately. I'll try to do better on both fronts in the future.**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

Tony read the first line of the file he had open on the computer screen in front of him.

Then, for good measure, he read it again.

Then, his eyebrows crept slowly up towards his hairline, and he muttered, "Huh."

"What?" came Bruce's mildly-annoyed voice from across the workshop.

"Nothing," Tony answered sharply, perusing the file in front of him with quick eyes. Bruce had been more than 'mildly' annoyed when he'd gotten wind of what Tony was calling a 'fact finding mission.' The mission was, of course, to figure out what was going on at SHIELD. Natasha had been called away on business suddenly a few days ago, leaving Clint 'in charge' for almost two days straight, until she'd come back wearing a stormy look on her face.

The resultant all-around sleep deprivation caused by her absence had been ugly, and Tony needed answers to make up for it. And since Clint was a reticent asshole, Tony had to do some digging to figure out what was up. Especially since Natasha had been in and out for the last several days, apparently still working something else on the side.

"There is, of course," Bruce had said upon learning of Tony's plan, "A third option. Instead of prying the information from the SHIELD agents, or lifting it from SHIELD's servers, you could just, I don't know...drop it?"

Tony's response to that had been a somewhat condescending, "Aw, Bob, you're so cute. But I don't drop things."

Bruce's response was somewhat less than eloquent—he'd thrown his hands up in the air and gone to 'meditate.'

Tony had felt bad about pushing his buttons, but honestly. Someone had to. Tony wasn't entirely sure why, but he felt strongly that it needed to be done.

Which was why, when Bruce gave an exasperated sigh and said, "Tony, I doubt very much that it's 'nothing,'" Tony responded brightly, "You're right; I got into SHIELD's servers."

Bruce sighed again. "Tony, they _caught _you last time, if you think you can outsmart them..."

It was true. Tony had hacked SHIELD once, to figure out what they had on him, on Bruce, and what sort of stuff they did in general. Apparently, he hadn't been as stealthy as he'd thought, because Agent Coulson had subsequently told Tony rather pointedly to go through official SHIELD channels if he wanted further information.

Really, though, what did Agent expect him to do, if the SHIELD birdies wouldn't squawk? Go without potentially valuable if not entertaining information?

Hardly.

The possibility that he was hacking into top-secret government files for his own entertainment was mostly lost on Tony.

To Bruce, he said, "Whatever. You wound me. But I figured out what I did wrong last time and I fixed it. No problem. If they catch me this time, I'll eat my laptop."

Bruce snorted. "Gonna want soy sauce with that or something?"

Ugh, people of little faith. "Whatever," Tony said again. "Do you want to know what I found or not?" He quickly double-checked the dates and times in the file. Yeah, this had to be what Natasha had been working on while she was gone. What she was still apparently working on, over a week later. "Because it's, um. Interesting."

He was going to say that it was 'cool,' but that wasn't quite right. What he'd found was definitely 'interesting,' though.

Bruce tapped an impatient finger on the desk next to his computer mouse. "Yeah. Sure."

Tony read the first line of the file aloud.

Eyebrows raised, Bruce said softly, "Huh."

"I know!" Tony exclaimed. He read the line again. "'Captain Steven Rogers discovered alive in arctic after missing for seventy years.' How is that even possible?"

Slowly, and with a faraway look in his eye, Bruce began speculating. "Well, his physiology was significantly altered by the serum. It's possible that his cells entered a dormant state in which they suffered neither hypothermia nor starvation...but _how_." He stopped and then shrugged sheepishly. "I'm sure the explanation is fascinating."

Tony had forgotten that Bruce would know a fair amount about Rogers. After all, he'd been working on replicating the formula that had essentially turned Rogers into a 'superhero.' Of course Bruce would be familiar with him. And, apparently, fairly interested in him, if his sudden monologue was anything to go by.

Tony was interested, too. He had heard a lot about Rogers growing up. His dad had been some kind of Captain America groupie, and hadn't hesitated to bring Rogers up as an upstanding example of bravery and daring whenever the opportunity struck. In a way, Tony had grown up in the shadow cast by Rogers's disappearance—his father had never really recovered from that loss, at least according to the old family friends who'd bothered enough with Tony to talk to him for five minutes. Not that Tony resented that, oh no, not at all. He didn't mind that his father had been obsessed with some old dead guy for his entire life, had more or less neglected Tony in favor trying to find a World War Two vet.

But despite Tony's complete and avowed 'non-resentment,' he was still interested in meeting Rogers, if only to see how he stood up to the myth.

Tony suggested, "You wanna go visit him? They have an address listed."

Bruce frowned. "I don't think so. I mean, don't you think that's...rude?" Something was obviously troubling Bruce—he was chewing on his bottom lip. Tony couldn't figure out if it was a distaste of being rude or something else.

_Like what? Obviously, he wants to see Rogers. Probably just paranoid about potentially being a jerk._

Personally, Tony wasn't troubled by the possibility of a surprise visit being rude. But then, he hardly ever thought _anything _was rude. 'Rude' was such a _subjective _thing, really, you couldn't waste your time trying to predict what would bother other people. So he answered, "Nah. I mean, if you don't want to, that's fine. I just thought it'd be fun."

Bruce sighed. "I just...yes, _of course_ I want to."

He didn't seem especially eager, though. Tony had figured that Bruce would want to satisfy his inner scientist, maybe get some data on Rogers. After all, Rogers was kind of like Ununoctium—the very, very rare successful byproduct of an experiment. It was an unprecedented opportunity for scientific tourism, why _wouldn't _Bruce want to go? Besides, if nothing else, if Tony got to see the not-so-late, great Captain America in the flesh, it might spite his father in the afterlife, and the mere possibility of that was enough incentive for Tony.

"Then what's the problem?" Tony asked.

Bruce looked down. "I don't know, it just...won't SHIELD figure out that you hacked them if we go knocking on Rogers's door?"

Waving off his concern, Tony replied, "Doesn't matter. I found the answer to my question. They can do whatever they want now."

"Like throw you in jail?" Bruce asked, frowning. He had stopped nibbling his lip and was now staring at Tony intently.

Tony crossed his arms over his chest. "I'd like to see them try." It wasn't like he'd seen anything _important. _Geez. Besides, he had to push _their _buttons, too. It was one of the few things from which he could derive satisfaction, these days.

"Okay, but," Bruce hedged. "There's one more problem. I have a, uh, babysitter. Two of them, actually. And I don't think they're gonna want to make a social call. Especially once you tell them they've been hacked."

"So, we sneak out," Tony suggested. "How hard can it be to get around Agent Birdbrain and Agent Personal Assistant?"

"Uh," Bruce muttered, averting his eyes. "Well, Natasha is terrifying, and Clint's also kinda intimidating, so...pretty hard?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Oh, have some faith in me. I'm sure I can get us out of here. We'll pop on over to Brooklyn, see the good Captain, and make it back here in a few hours. We'll just tell agents Scary and Scarier that we're doing 'science stuff' and don't want to be disturbed. Hell, all they do is watch movies and sharpen their knives anyway, they won't even notice we're gone."

The worry Bruce was feeling was evident on his face. And the reluctance. But he nodded slowly anyway. "Fine. But if we get caught, I'm blaming everything on you."

"Works for me," Tony answered, and went back to reading the file.

He'd figure out what was up with Bruce later.

* * *

"Where the hell are you two going?"

Natasha had been in the kitchen, eating a bowl of Shredded Wheat, when she'd heard footsteps coming up the stairs from the workshop. This was immediately concerning, as Tony had explicitly told her that he and Bruce were doing 'science things' and didn't want to be disturbed. They way he'd said it had made Natasha immediately suspicious, but she'd figured they were down there building vinegar and baking soda volcanoes or something equally juvenile.

It wouldn't have been the first time.

But when she'd heard the footsteps on the stairs (her hearing was very good; after years of training, it _ought _to be), she'd headed towards the front of the house, just in time to see the front door close with a nearly-inaudible 'click.'

She'd immediately strode forward and whipped the door open, causing both Tony and Bruce to jump. Natasha had felt a split-second of worry—startling Bruce Banner was high on her list of 'things to avoid at all costs'—but she had a job to do, and that came before worrying.

So she'd barked out her question.

Tony and Bruce looked at her with vastly different expressions. Tony looked resentful, as if he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Bruce, though, was actually blushing.

Natasha took a moment to wonder when she'd become the mother of two forty-year-old men. Then she demanded, "Well?"

Tony and Bruce looked at each other, and then Tony tried, "Uh, we were going for a walk?"

"It's almost midnight," Natasha pointed out. "Where were you going?" She was going to overlook the 'Bruce isn't supposed to go out on his own thing' for the moment because for one, she thought that was kind of stupid at this point (he'd more than proven himself trustworthy, she thought) and for two, that was sure to remind Tony that he hated SHIELD and turn him into the class-A dick she'd come to know and love. For the moment, he seemed to be playing nice, and she didn't want to ruin that.

"Er," Bruce muttered, looking down, "There's a coffee shop..."

"You don't drink coffee," Natasha said.

"They serve decaf," Bruce muttered sullenly.

She found his attempt at lying both transparent and adorable. "I'm sure they do. Now, really."

"I don't see how it's your business—" Tony started.

"Shut it, Stark," Natasha interrupted. "The truth. My cereal is getting soggy."

As if the idea of soggy cereal repulsed him enough to loosen his tongue, Tony rolled his eyes and admitted, "Fine. We were going to visit Captain Rogers."

Natasha felt something that seemed very much like a migraine creeping in behind her left eye. "Uh huh. Dare I ask why? Or should I start with 'how?'" She paused. "No, never mind. I can figure out how." Tony had hacked SHIELD, evidently. And he'd done a better job than he had last time—Coulson had called her and let her know what was going on within ten minutes of Tony gaining access last time. She hadn't heard anything yet today, which meant Tony's intrusion had gone undetected.

She cocked her head to the side and considered the pair of them, then sighed. "Okay. Tell me where the hole is in our security and I'll bring you to see Rogers." It seemed like a decent deal. Quid pro quo. At least SHIELD could get _something _out of this mess. And that might make Fury less inclined to chew her head off, when he found out he was taking these two to visit SHIELD's newly reclaimed supersoldier.

Well, he'd probably forgive her, if she explained she'd done it to benefit Rogers—Natasha had been spending some time with him, and she thought that visitors might do him some good... although whether Howard Stark's son would be a welcome sight, she couldn't know.

That probably depended on their intentions.

So before either of them could answer, she added, "As long as you _also _tell me _why _you want to see him."

"Scientific curiosity," Tony said easily. Bruce nodded.

Natasha tried not to imagine what that might entail. "Okay. Fine. But we're not going anywhere right now. It's midnight."

This was practically afternoon to Tony, Natasha knew, but she didn't know enough about Rogers to know if he'd be up right now.

"Fine," Tony agreed shortly, narrowing his eyes. "What time?"

"We'll leave at 8:00," Natasha decided. "I'll let Clint know we're going; he'll be happy to sleep in. We can stop at SHIELD before, and I can let Rogers know we're coming." She looked at Bruce. "I'll need to give him some background information, for safety's sake." She hated saying it—had no doubt that there would be no 'incidents' whatsoever—but protocol dictated it had to be done. Fury was already going to be pissed that Tony had hacked them and that she was taking them to visit Rogers at all. Following protocol might appease him.

Bruce nodded once, slowly, and Natasha added, "And while we're there, Tony, you can tell our tech people where they screwed up."

Shrugging, Tony nodded and said, "Fine. Come on, Bruce, we'd better let Constant Vigilance here get back to her cereal."

But Natasha reached out a hand to stop Bruce. "Just a sec." She waved a dismissive hand at Tony. "You can go."

Muttering something undoubtedly rude, Tony slipped back inside and shut the door behind him. Natasha leaned against the railing on the front porch, looking at Bruce. "How'd he talk you into this, anyway?"

Bruce gave a half-smile. "Honestly? I'm not sure he did. But Tony doesn't take no for an answer, and he wanted to go. I thought it might be...hard, but he's persuasive."

"Sneaking out? Yeah, that _would _be hard," Natasha agreed.

But Bruce shook his head, leaning against the opposite railing. "No, not that. I thought..." He looked down and addressed his shoes, "I thought...that seeing how it was _supposed _to work out..."

Ah. Well. That made sense. Kind of. She hadn't really thought of that. "So you don't want to meet him? Rogers?"

"No, that's not it," Bruce answered, still looking down. "I do. I'd even like to, uh, do some tests, if he'd let me. I just..." He shrugged. "I mean, what's he going to think of me?"

This conversation wasn't really within Natasha's comfort zone—she was better at punching things than talking things out—but she wasn't going to drop the ball now. She'd gotten to know Bruce pretty well over the last few months, knew that he struggled with self-doubt, that he worried constantly about what he was. So she demanded, "Hey. Look at me."

He did.

"Yeah, you made a mistake. Who hasn't? You're probably going to make a lot more of them. That's what people do. I'm sure Rogers knows that. He's not the kind of person to hold that against you."

It was true. After the SHIELD agents had managed to get Rogers calmed down enough to head back to headquarters, he'd been remarkably forgiving about the whole being lied to thing. In fact, he'd been perfectly polite, calling Natasha 'ma'am' and 'Agent Romanoff' until she'd curtly corrected him.

"Just Natasha, Captain," she'd said, softening her sharp tone with a small smile.

"Steve is fine, Natasha," he'd answered, with a similar smile.

He'd been clearly overwhelmed by what was going on around him, and it had fallen on Natasha to take him to the apartment SHIELD had set up for him and explain some of the broader points of twenty-first century culture.

Rogers hadn't said much, but he'd taken in what she'd told him, and he was a quick learner. Within a day, he was easily navigating the subway system, which had changed significantly since the 1930s. He took cell phones in stride, as well, although perhaps not so easily. Still, SHIELD had insisted.

The news of his friends had been harder to deliver, but he'd taken it well. At least, he hadn't said anything, just frowned and thanked her for the information. She'd left him with their files, but last she'd seen, they had been casually discarded on a chair. Natasha thought it might take him a while to work up to reading them.

Her overall impression of Rogers, from the few days she'd spent with him, was that he was tired, overwhelmed, and trying to deal with the shit hand he'd been dealt. He was doing a good job, and she respected him for it, but the fact remained that he was still extremely isolated. Aside from her, she didn't think he had any visitors. Coulson had been busy, much to his dismay, and everyone else was too stunned to do more than stutter at Rogers.

"He's just a normal guy," Natasha added in the lengthy silence, thinking of everyone's overblown awe.

Bruce looked for a moment as if he'd like nothing more than to end this conversation, or resume examining his shoes. He pushed his glasses up his nose instead. "Right. A normal guy who's also pretty much the definition of 'hero.' And I'm—" he waved a hand, "What I am. And I got this way by trying to be _him_."

"You were never trying to be him," Natasha corrected. "You were doing an experiment. It went wrong. Shit happens." She paused. "It's not like he can...absolve you. And he sure as hell can't condemn you—what does he know about why you did what you did?" Natasha didn't think Rogers was big on the 'condemnation' thing, anyway. Bruce didn't answer, and so Natasha asked, "Why do you even care what he thinks?"

"I..." Bruce hesitated, then finished, "I'm not sure. I just feel," he shrugged one shoulder, "Inadequate, I guess. I'm what Captain America would have fought in the comic books. A monster. What could I possibly say to him?"

Ouch. And yet, no real surprise there. Natasha suspected Bruce often felt that way. "Why didn't you say any of this to Tony?"

Bruce gave a small chuckle. "He's not the best listener. Tends to hear what he wants to hear, so it's easier to just save time and, uh, say what he wants to hear."

_Fair enough_, Natasha thought to herself, oddly touched that Bruce would open up to _her _instead. "Look. If you don't want to meet Rogers, I'll suffer through a few hours of Tony on my own. But I think you _should_. If only because you feel this way." Bruce looked like he was going to interject, to Natasha added hurriedly, "I think you'll find he's pretty easy to talk to. Just give it a shot, okay?"

Bruce's shoulders slumped. "Fine."

Natasha straightened up and opened the front door. "Now go to bed."

Without a word, he obliged.

Natasha followed him inside, closing the door behind her and heading back to her now-soggy cereal.

Yeah, she wasn't ready to be a mother, but damn if she wasn't there already.

* * *

Steve's cell phone had rung at 8:57 AM, and it had taken him only three rings to answer it.

He was getting better with this stuff.

By 8:57, he'd already been up for a few hours. Side effect of the serum, he didn't need to sleep much anymore. Which gave him a lot of free time. He'd spent the early hours of the day reading one of the history books that Agent Romanoff had dropped off a day ago. It was odd to be reading about what should have been the 'future' as 'history,' and it was constantly amazing to see the things he'd missed.

The people at SHIELD had been apologetic about how everything had gone when he'd woken up, and Steve had forgiven them readily. He knew that his was a unique case, that they had nothing to go on in terms of how something like this ought to be handled. They'd decided to make it up to him, by giving him his own apartment, completely furnished, along with a stipend (which seemed enormous, until he'd seen how inflated prices had become), and he'd accepted, as much as he hated accepting charity. At the moment, he didn't see that he had a choice.

Director Fury assured Steve that, once he'd acclimated to his new circumstances, SHIELD could almost certainly find a use for him, so that was some consolation.

In the meantime, though, he was left mostly to his own devices. Agent Romanoff visited him occasionally, helping him with things he didn't understand, but she was the only person he had regular contact with.

The people he'd once known...well, a lot of time had passed. Agent Romanoff had given him a quick rundown, and it had been about what he'd expected. He had files on all of them, if he wanted the details, but he couldn't do that. Not yet. Not when all of this still barely felt real.

So he entertained himself. He wandered the city, trying to find his old haunts and becoming dismayed at how many of them had been obliterated by passing time. Still, he kept at it, trying to get a feel for what had once been his home. It felt foreign, the people felt strange, and most nights he came home from his travels too exhausted to do more than fall into bed.

That suited him.

His phone ringing, then, was somewhat unexpected. When he had seen that it was Agent Romanoff, though, he had been less surprised.

"Good morning, Natasha," he'd answered, making a concerted effort to avoid calling her by her title.

"Steve," she answered evenly. "You up for visitors?"

That caught him off guard. Not 'a visitor,' but 'visitors.' Plural. Still, he never backed down from things like this. "I am," he answered, keeping his uncertainty out of his voice. "Who should I be expecting?"

"Me," Natasha answered. "And I have two people with me who want to meet you. One is Tony Stark."

Steve knew all about Tony Stark. Howard's son. At least, he knew a fair bit about Tony Stark. What he'd managed to see in the media around him in the last week. It was...a lot. Stark was a big name in technology, just like his...father had been. He'd just been through a huge legal battle over some kind of metal suit he'd invented. He was on the East Coast right now because his house in California had blown up due to a gas leak or something.

He was also, according to what Steve had read, arrogant, immature, and had a reputation for being pretty smooth with the ladies.

Why would _he _want to come by? Unless he wanted to talk about Howard? That...Steve wasn't ready to do that.

He didn't say that, though. He'd deal with that if he had to. He just asked, "Who else, Agent Romanoff?"

There were two beats of silence, and then Steve realized his mistake. He corrected himself. "Natasha."

"A friend of Mr. Stark's. His name is Dr. Bruce Banner, and he's a physicist."

"All right," Steve agreed amicably. "When should I be expecting you?"

"Not so fast," Natasha said. "I need to tell you some things first. Dr. Banner is...a rather unique individual, who is currently being monitored by SHIELD."

That sounded bad. "Monitored for what, exactly?"

And then Agent Romanoff had explained.

When she was done, Steve had just said, "Okay. Well. I'll be here when you arrive. I'll make coffee." He paused, then amended, "Decaffeinated."

* * *

The building Natasha parked in front of at 9:59 AM was entirely nondescript.

At least, it was to Bruce. Tony commented, "Geez, nice place. SHIELD really knows how to put on the ritz, huh?"

Natasha glared at him across the front seat. "Rogers picked it. Now shut up."

Her temper was a little short, undoubtedly due to the massive chewing out she'd received from Fury. He hadn't been too impressed with the situation, but he'd eventually agreed that seeing Howard Stark's only remaining kin might do Captain Rogers some good.

He'd been less enthusiastic about sending Bruce along, but he'd conceded eventually. Probably just to get Tony out of the building before he could plant a virus or something. Bruce wasn't going to question it—Natasha hadn't, after all. She'd just called Rogers and told him they were coming.

And now they were there. After a quick stop for donuts, which Natasha had been mostly successfully trying to keep Tony out of for the duration of the drive.

"Come on," Natasha said, opening her door and grabbing the bag of donuts. She led the way up the front steps and pressed a button on the buzzer.

A male voice answered, "Agent—Natasha?"

"Yeah," Natasha answered easily. "And friends. And food." She looked over at Bruce and gave him a small, reassuring smile while Tony was glancing back towards the car, probably making sure no one was stealing it or something.

Bruce was not reassured, but he did his best to hide it. He was keeping close track of his heartbeat, and everything seemed good in that department, but it only took a second for something to go wrong.

The door buzzed loudly and the lock on the door clicked open. Natasha opened the door and gestured for Tony and Bruce to go in first. "Staircase is to the right, head up to the second floor."

They did.

"Chill out, dude," Tony stage-whispered to Bruce, who had been nearly silent all morning. "We're only just about to meet the coolest science experiment _ever, _muster up some enthusiasm."

This time, Natasha smacked Tony on the back of the head with her free hand. "Don't call him that to his face, he can bench press you."

Bruce found that mental image fairly entertaining.

Natasha turned right at the top of the stairs, and led them down a hall. She stopped at the door furthest from the stairs and knocked.

There was a crash of breaking glass from inside the apartment, and an audible "Damn it" followed. Then, louder, "Uh, just a minute!"

Tony raised an eyebrow.

Before he could comment, though, the door was flung open, and Rogers (at least, Bruce assumed it was Rogers) was apologizing quickly, "Sorry, I was making coffee, and I was trying to carry four cups at once. It didn't work out. But come in, I'll just find a towel."

Natasha did as she was instructed, and Tony followed. Bruce lingered outside the apartment for a moment, looking inside.

The apartment was sparsely furnished and small. There was a television, but nothing like the 60 inch monstrosities Tony put everywhere. All in all, it seemed understated, and maybe just a little bit dingy.

Rogers called from the kitchen, "Watch out for the broken glass, I'm just gonna grab another cup!"

There were three cups of coffee on the coffee table by the couch, and a fourth lying broken in a spreading pool of coffee underneath it. Natasha set the donuts next to the coffee.

A moment later, Rogers came bustling in carrying a towel and another cup of coffee. He set that down, then started wiping up the coffee on the floor.

Tony was watching him with narrowed eyes, but Bruce couldn't even begin to fathom what he was thinking.

It didn't take Rogers very long to finish, and then he brought the towel back to the kitchen. When he came back, he walked over to Tony, holding out his hand. "Steve Rogers."

Tony took it. "Tony Stark. Nice place you've got here."

Rogers gave Tony a cool look, but then held out his hand to Bruce.

"Bruce Banner," he offered, shaking Rogers's hand.

"Nice to meet you both," Rogers said. He smiled at Natasha. "Good to see you again, Natasha."

She sat down on the couch. "You too." Her gaze turned to the book propped open on the end table next to her. "How's the history going?"

Rogers shrugged. "Seems like the future to me." He looked at Tony and Bruce. "Sit. Please." Then, to Bruce, he said, "The coffee is decaffeinated. Natasha told me about your, uh. Condition."

Bruce felt his eyebrows creeping up. Of all the reactions he'd expected to get from Rogers, special decaf coffee wasn't one of them. He picked up a cup. "Er, thanks." He took a sip—it was kind of strong. Excessively so, in fact.

"No problem," Rogers said. "I needed to go to the store this morning anyway."

For a moment, there was a lull in the conversation, as the four mostly-strangers stared awkwardly at each other.

Then, Rogers said frankly, "I'm not sure why you're here. Natasha skipped that part on the phone this morning. Maybe we could start there?"

"Have a donut," Natasha offered.

* * *

**Thanks to everyone for reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing. You're all awesome.**

**For those who've been asking—Thor _will_ be showing up eventually, but not just yet. He's in the works, though. This whole thing is ending up way longer than I intended for it to be, as most of my longer stories tend to, ugh.**

**Please review. In lieu of reviews, I gladly accept most baked goods.**


	16. Kids

**Many thanks to my beta, irite, for educating me on how tall people ride in cars.**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

Everyone dove into the donuts, mostly ignoring each other for the moment in favor of eating. But the relative peace didn't last long. As Steve munched on his second donut (he'd taken the bavarian cream filled one, much to Tony's annoyance—and Tony wasn't above saying something about it, much to Bruce's embarrassment), Tony tried to explain why they were here.

Letting him speak was a mistake.

Unfortunately, Bruce did not realize this until it was too late.

"So, here's the thing," Tony began, pointedly ignoring the cup of decaf in front of him. "In the seventy years since you went AWOL, no one's managed to figure out how the hell the team that worked on you managed to pull it off. That makes you, like, one of the seven scientific wonders of the world."

Rogers shrugged, maybe a bit uneasily. He shoved the last of his donut in his mouth and chewed it quickly. "I've talked to some of the scientists at SHIELD, but I didn't have anything to offer them that they hadn't already gotten from, um, your dad." At the mention of Howard, Rogers frowned a bit before shaking it off.

This went completely over Tony's head. Or if he noticed, he didn't mention it. Instead, he said, "You don't want to get too buddy-buddy with SHIELD, dude."

"Why not?"

Rogers looked genuinely confused, but Tony just barked a harsh laugh. "You're kidding, right?" He glanced over at Bruce and went on, "They've been basically holding Dr. Banner here hostage for the last six months—"

"Stark," Natasha interrupted, just as Bruce spoke up, "Tony—"

They looked at each other, and then Natasha nodded at Bruce to continue. He said, "They haven't been holding me 'hostage,' Captain. I get that they need to take, uh, precautions."

"Steve, please, Dr. Banner." But he was looking at Tony. "What's your problem?"

"Oh, god," Natasha muttered. "Guys—"

Tony rolled his eyes—actually rolled them, like he was about thirteen damn years old—and said, "I don't have a _problem_. I'm just saying, do some research before you jump on board. Things have changed in the last seventy years, and the government's not always the good guy anymore."

Bruce was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Almost unbearably awkward. He tried to defuse the situation for the sake of everyone. "I'm sure he knows that, Tony."

"If he knew that, he wouldn't be working with SHIELD," Tony muttered.

"_You_ work with SHIELD," Bruce pointed out. "You have two agents living with you."

That got a raised eyebrow from Rogers. Steve. Whatever. Bruce got the impression Natasha had skimmed over that detail in her conversations with him.

This was confirmed when Steve asked, "What?"

Tony shrugged. "It was the price I had to pay so that Bruce could stick around and play scientist with me. And I like having my own physicist."

Bruce resisted the urge to roll his own eyes. Hearing Tony describe him like he was property never got any less annoying, especially when he knew Tony was doing it just to show off.

"Sounds pretty hypocritical," Steve said, wearing a self-righteous expression that Bruce _knew _would piss Tony right off.

It did. "Yeah, why don't you just sit down and shut up 'til you've lived in this millennium a little longer, gramps. Then maybe you can talk about values."

That declaration was met with several seconds of incredibly tense silence.

Bruce decided to try to smooth things over again by changing the subject. It was an awkward and transparent attempt. "You, um, knew Tony's dad, didn't you?" He knew Howard had worked on the original super soldier project, but the way Steve had referred to him earlier, it seemed like he'd known Howard better than if that had been the extent of their relationship.

"Yeah," Tony butted in, "That asshole was kind of obsessed with him—"

"Excuse me?" Steve interjected, eyebrows raised in alarm.

"Sorry," Tony apologized, not sounding sorry at all. "By 'that asshole,' I mean 'my dad.' Anyway, I looked over his notes, but he was just the engineer on call during the procedure, all the cool shit was Erskine or whatever—"

"Tony," Bruce interrupted. The look on Rogers's face was stormy, and Bruce didn't like where this seemed to be headed. Far too much conflict and raised voices. "Stop."

"Stop what?" Tony asked, although it was clear he knew _exactly _what Bruce meant.

"Talking," Natasha practically growled, getting to her feet. To Steve, she said, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize he was going to be like this. I wouldn't have brought him here if I had."

Steve shook his head, looking a bit overwhelmed. "No, it's fine—"

"Don't apologize on my behalf," Tony snarled, also standing.

"Then don't act like a dick!" Bruce barked, unable to tolerate this behavior any longer. He could not recall a time in recent memory when he'd been more embarrassed. "What _is_ your problem, anyway?"

"I'll be in the car," was all Tony said before storming from the apartment. He did not, at least, slam the door behind him.

Natasha looked at the door, then at Steve. "I am so sorry about that. I didn't expect..."

Awkwardly, Steve stood and began clearing up the coffee. "It's okay. I just thought...he'd be a little more like his dad. Stupid, I guess."

Bruce didn't know a lot about Tony, even after living with him for six months. He knew less about Tony's dad, but knew their relationship had been strained—he'd picked up on that during his first few days in Malibu, when Tony hadn't wanted to go through the stuff his dad had left for him. So that was probably where the conflict here had originated—Steve had wanted to talk to Howard, not Tony. And Tony didn't want anything to do with Howard.

So he spoke up, "I don't think it was your fault. He's, um, a little touchy about his dad." He didn't feel comfortable talking about Tony behind his back, but figured Steve deserved _some _explanation for what had just happened.

Steve chuckled. "I noticed." He walked Tony's untouched coffee cup to the kitchen and then came back. He held his hand out to Bruce and met Bruce's face square on, making Bruce believe that what followed was the truth. "It was good to meet you, Dr. Banner."

"Just Bruce," he replied, shaking hands again. This meeting hadn't gone anything at all like he'd planned. In a way, that was a good thing, but he hadn't gotten any of the answers he was after. So he asked, "Would it be okay if I came by again sometime? Maybe without, uh, a certain person?"

Smiling, Steve said, "Sure." He looked at Natasha. "You're both welcome to stop by." He was apparently too polite to say anything about Tony's lack of a standing invitation.

Natasha wasn't. "That'd be great." Then, softer, "Stark can stay at home chained to his workbench for all I care."

Bruce had a feeling that for her, that was more than an idle suggestion.

He suspected it might just become reality.

* * *

Clint woke up at 10:30 AM, and it was glorious.

He hadn't gotten to sleep in for a very long time. Either he was working from 8 AM to 8 PM and getting up at 7:00, or he was working from 8 PM to 8 AM and sleeping in the middle of the day. This was the first time since they'd relocated to the East Coast that he'd gotten more than eight hours of sleep at a normal time.

Natasha had woken him up around 1 AM to inform him that Stark had hacked SHIELD—again—and had found out about Rogers. She was going to take him and Banner to visit later that morning before the two of them worked out some absurd scheme to go on their own, like they'd apparently tried to do last night.

Well, she was more than welcome to take them to see Rogers. Personally, Clint wasn't all that interested in meeting the guy. Sure, Phil's apparent Captain America obsession was amusing (Natasha had filled him in), but really, Clint didn't see the appeal. Rogers was a superhero, sure, but the guy was basically a ninety-year-old twenty-something. You couldn't _pay _Clint to deal with that kind of messed up shit.

So he had plans of enjoying his down time until the two scientists came back and he had to be back on babysitting duty.

He was fairly surprised, then, when his phone rang at 11:00. It was Phil. "What's up? Sir?" he answered, hastily swallowing the bite of Shredded Wheat he'd been gnawing on. He'd wanted Froot Loops, but Natasha did the shopping and she apparently had no taste. And claimed that any food where the first ingredient was 'sugar' was not actually food.

Whatever.

"Morning, Barton. Enjoying your time off?"

"Sure am." He paused, waiting for Phil to get to the point of this conversation. He got along really well with his handler, but Phil never just called to socialize.

Phil did not disappoint. "You want to do something a little more interesting than babysitting?"

Damn straight he did. This detail was nice and all—cushy, even—but the fact remained that he hadn't shot anything but targets since the little incident at Stark's house. But it wouldn't do to show all his cards right away. "Well, that depends, sir."

"On what, Barton? Is your social calendar full?"

"You know it."

Phil sighed. "Look. We've been working on something big."

Clint knew that. Phil had been extra busy for the last week, to that point that he hadn't even gotten to go visit Captain America once. Clint hadn't pried, since he'd been so 'busy' here, but now it looked like he was finally going to get read in. Finally. It wasn't fair for Nat to get all the extra missions. "What's that, sir?"

"The Tesseract," Phil answered, like that should make sense.

"Gonna need a little more here, Phil."

"Look, there's a file you can read. I'll e-mail it to you. Give it a look, then try to get here by 2:00 or 3:00."

"Sure," Clint answered. "But, uh, I'm on days with Stark and Banner this week. Nat's been on duty since 8:00 last night."

"Think of it as revenge for when she left you in charge for a few days," Phil answered. "Fury's starting to back off on the idea that Banner needs 24-hour surveillance, he's testing it out. You'll be gone for two, three days max."

Clint considered this. "Do I get to shoot anything?"

"Never say never, Barton. Read the file." And then he hung up.

Clint wandered back up to his room and grabbed his laptop, which he set up on the kitchen table. He started reading the file.

The Tesseract, as it turned out, was some sort of energy source that had been drastically misused during WWII by the Nazis, Hydra, whatever. It had been recovered from the Atlantic Ocean shortly after Captain America had crashed there. It struck him as odd that this was coming to light _now_, when the Tesseract had been in SHIELD's (well, the organization that would become SHIELD's) possession for the better part of seventy years. But then, maybe modern technology had finally caught up to where they could actually attempt to figure this thing out.

The file Phil had sent was pretty sparse on details—like what, exactly, SHIELD was using the Tesseract _for_—but that didn't concern him too much. He was an assassin, not a physicist, and what SHIELD did in its science division wasn't really his business.

Of course, that raised the question of why he was being called in on this at all. Clint hoped Phil would be a little more forthcoming in person.

A little bit after noon, Natasha came home with Stark and Banner in tow. She looked murderous, Stark looked petulant, and Banner looked apologetic, somehow communicating a silent 'I'm sorry' through his body language.

Looked like their visit with Rogers had gone about how he'd expected it would, then.

Stark and Banner stopped in the kitchen long enough to grab lunch before they retreated down to their secret lair. Natasha threw herself into the chair across from Clint at the table, immediately cradling her head in her hands. "If I ever suggest something as _stupid _as this again, will you please just shoot me?"

"Aw, Nat, I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

She looked up. "Wanna bet?"

"No. Because I'm sure it _was _that bad."

She stood up and began to pace. "What I don't get is how can Stark be so goddamn immature and still count as an adult? He used to be in charge of making _weapons_,for god's sake!"

"I'm pretty sure Pepper ran most of the show then, though," Clint pointed out. He didn't know Tony's assistant-turned-CEO that well, but she had seemed frighteningly competent the few times they'd met.

Natasha whipped her head around. "Pepper. That's what I need to do. I need to tell Pepper." She whipped her phone out.

"Nat...are you tattling?" Clint asked, eyebrows raised.

"Damn straight I am," she replied, tapping out a text message.

"Rogers is classified," Clint pointed out.

"I know," Natasha said. "But Stark knows about him. It's only a matter of time 'til Pepper does. And I trust her."

And Clint trusted Natasha's judgment. He waited until she'd hit 'send' and then proceeded with caution. "So, Phil called me this morning..."

"Oh?" Natasha shoved her phone back in her pocket and sat again.

"Yeah. He has a job for me. Two or three days, he said."

"No. You can't go and leave me with them." The way she said this left no room for argument.

Clint felt a little bit bad—the timing on this was unfortunate—but he shrugged. "Sorry. Fury's experimenting with—"

"Losing the babysitters for Bruce and Jackass, I know," Natasha muttered. "I know. And I guess it's only fair." Her expression indicated that this was not fair at all.

"Phil wants me on base at 2:00. I should go pack," Clint said, standing and stretching. "You gonna kill Stark while I'm gone?"

Natasha reached down and patted the gun in the holster at her ankle. "I haven't yet, though I admit I was tempted."

Clint grinned. "You could always threaten him."

Natasha's phone buzzed and she read the text message. Then she grinned, too. "Not necessary. Pepper's coming over."

And suddenly, Clint was disappointed that he was leaving. This sounded like something he didn't want to miss.

* * *

Tony knew he'd been a jackass. He was oblivious, generally, but not _that _oblivious. And even if he was, the stony silence in the car on the way back from Captain High'n'Mighty's apartment would have been enough to clue him in that something was amiss.

He hadn't gone in expecting to be a jerk. It was just...seeing the guy his father had basically ditched him for up close and personal had hit a little harder than he'd expected it to. And Rogers had known Howard, which had annoyingly made Tony feel pressured into living up to his father's image. Like maybe Rogers had expected it. It just really rubbed him the wrong way. And he'd reacted the only way he knew how—by making things worse.

Natasha had seemed ready to kill him, and Tony was fairly concerned that she _would_, but Bruce, at least, had been forgiving. They'd gotten home and headed down to the workshop, and the first thing Bruce said was, "We can't take you out in public, can we?"

Which was kinda harsh. The second thing, though, was, "Are you okay?"

Tony had waved his concern off, though. He was fine. At least, he would be. 'Course, he couldn't stomach the idea of seeing Captain America's stupid patriotic face any time soon, but he could sweep his daddy issues back under the rug where they belonged fairly easily. No problem, that was his motto.

Bruce hadn't been too accepting of that, though, and Tony decided he liked it better when Bruce was doing his impression of a doormat. "Yeah, because that was a completely normal reaction to meeting someone new," Bruce commented, making eye contact, which was unusual.

To which Tony had replied, perhaps a tad snidely, "And you're totally the judge of normal emotional reactions. Let's not do this."

And so they hadn't. Instead, they'd tapped away at their individual projects in silence.

At least until Bruce had offered, "Wanna take a break? There's an NCIS marathon on USA today."

"Didn't know you liked that sort of thing," Tony had said. "Or that you watched TV."

Bruce had shrugged. "It's Memorial Day. They always do marathons on holidays. Seems like as good a way to pass the time as any."

So they'd gone upstairs, acquired snacks, and settled in for a few hours of mindless entertainment. It had been fairly amicable, and Tony had thought that the whole morning's ordeal was behind them (because he had no intention of apologizing to anyone, and they could deal with that), but then Pepper showed up.

They were in the middle of a commercial break when JARVIS announced, "Ms. Potts is here, sir."

That made Tony sit up straight. He wasn't expecting Pepper. It was a weekday. It was just after 5:00. She usually worked until at least 7:00, and almost never came over until the weekend. None of this boded well.

JARVIS's warning was all the warning Tony got before Pepper stormed into the living room, high heels clicking against the wood floors. They stopped just behind him.

He turned around slowly to face the music, doing his best to not cringe.

"Tony, what the hell is your problem?"

Bruce slowly rose from the chair he was sitting in across the room. Great, he was being abandoned in his time of need.

Or not. "Sit down," Pepper snapped. Bruce sunk slowly back down into his seat.

She glared at both of them. "Really, Tony? You went behind Natasha's back and tried to sneak out of the house? You know Bruce isn't supposed to leave on his own!" She turned to Bruce. "I expected better from you!"

He actually looked chagrined. Tony was too busy being torn between wondering what Romanoff had told Pepper, and lauding her underhanded strategy of bringing Pepper into this. "Romanoff tattled, did she?"

"Yes, she did. The rules are in place for Bruce's safety! And then she told me that you hacked SHIELD _again_? Tony! That's a felony!" Her tone was approaching dangerous levels of exasperation.

"I know," he muttered, looking down. Geez, Romanoff hadn't held anything back, had she?

"And," Pepper went on, "Then you acted like a child to an American legend. You're lucky he didn't throw you out a window, Tony!"

Wow, Romanoff had even told her about Rogers?

"He wouldn't do that," Tony said in what he hoped was a placating manner. Being thrown from a window was high on his list of things to avoid, and he definitely hadn't gotten that vibe from Rogers. Rogers was itching to deck him, sure, but not throw him out a window.

"That's not the point!"

Tony found he didn't really have anything to say for himself. At least, nothing he could say without once again unearthing the daddy issues he'd just swept away. So he looked down. "Yeah, okay. I was wrong. I acted like a jerk. It won't happen again."

"You need to apologize," Pepper said. Her tone was hard as iron. "To both Natasha and Captain Rogers."

"Aw, Pep," Tony whined, well aware this was a bad strategy. He just couldn't help it.

"Just do it," she snapped. Then, to Bruce, "And you. Don't let him push you around. You're both supposedly geniuses so I don't know how you can be so stupid."

Bruce nodded, apparently cowed.

"Good." Then, softer, "Do you two want to get dinner? I figure you owe Natasha something nice; I was thinking that place near headquarters."

Tony nodded, but then frowned. "Uh, it's not Agent PA though. It's Agent Birdboy 'til 8:00 tonight."

Pepper shook her head, ignoring the nicknames. "He's on a mission. It's just Natasha for the next few days. And god knows she could use some company that isn't you two. Plus, it'll give you an opportunity to apologize for being an ass."

If he thought about it, Tony might resent the implication that his company was somehow _trying _for Romanoff. But he was more fixated on the 'Barton's on a mission' thing. That was interesting. He'd have to look into that. For the moment, though, he had to placate Pepper. "Fine." He gestured to Bruce. "Come on, dude. Let's get changed. You own a suit, right?"

"Yeah," Bruce answered. "One."

"Well, we can always play dress up in my closet." That would bring back old memories.

"Don't torment Bruce!" Pepper warned, settling down on the couch Tony had just vacated, kicking her heels off, and putting her feet up on the coffee table.

If she'd been Barton, Tony would have snapped at her for it.

But she was Pepper. And even when she came over exclusively to yell at him, well.

He wasn't about to yell back.

* * *

Steve woke up at 4:38 AM on July 4th, 2011. It was his ninety-third birthday.

Or his twenty-seventh. It was kind of a gray area.

He felt ninety-three. He looked twenty-seven. Maybe he'd split the difference and say he was sixty.

He got up a few minutes before 5:00, after laying in bed and trying to puzzle out exactly how old he was. It was a fruitless endeavor and it mostly just made him wistful. Nostalgic. And made him think of everything he'd lost.

And that wasn't who he was. He tried to look forward. So he got on with his day.

By 9:00, he'd been to the gym, had done some reading, and was getting ready to go out and do some drawing when he got a text message.

It was from Natasha. And it said, 'Happy birthday. Got any plans?'

Steve chuckled to himself. He didn't, and she'd know that. He strongly suspected that SHIELD was watching him, though he couldn't prove it. It made him a little uneasy, truth be told. But that was how it was today. Everyone was watching everyone. There were video cameras in the grocery store, and Natasha told him that it was possible to trace his exact location just by tracking his cell phone.

Not that it was hard to find him—he didn't wander far.

Although, it had been more than a month since he'd rejoined the world, and he was slowly wandering farther.

Steve texted her back, indicating in the least pathetic, 'oh poor me' way possible that no, he had no plans for the day beyond the sorts of things he usually did.

He got another message a few minutes later. 'You up for company?'

He replied that he was, and less than a minute later, he heard a knock at his door.

_That was quick_.

Steve opened the door. It was Natasha. And Bruce. And a guy Steve didn't know.

At least she hadn't brought Stark. Of course, after how badly that meeting had gone (and how awkward Stark's subsequent, no doubt coerced, apology had been the next day), Steve figured Natasha was smart enough not to make the same mistake twice.

"Good morning, Steve," Natasha said. She jerked a thumb at the blond guy standing next to her, hands in his pockets. "This is Clint Barton. He works with me at SHIELD, lives with me at Stark's, and desperately wanted to get out of the house."

Clint interjected, "I haven't really gotten to do anything but, uh, babysit for the last three weeks."

To which Natasha snarked, "At least you got to go on a mission recently. Unlike some of us."

Steve held out his hand, interrupting their banter. "Steve Rogers."

"Nice to meet you," Barton replied, shaking his hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

Steve looked at Natasha, surprised. She didn't seem like the gossipy type. "Really?"

"Oh, not from me," she muttered. Then, taking in his attire, "Oh, good. You're ready to go out. Come on."

"Whoa, hold on," he said. "Where are we going?"

"Breakfast, I hope," Barton said.

"Unless you've eaten?" Natasha asked.

Well, Steve had. But he was entirely unopposed to eating again, and he said so. "Besides," he added, "It's practically lunch time."

At their confused looks, he admitted, "I got up kind of early."

"Great!" Barton exclaimed. His enthusiasm was undaunted by the glare Natasha sent his way. Steve got an impression of long suffering from her, as if her acquaintance with Barton had a history, and he made a note to ask Bruce about it if he got the chance.

In the car, Natasha and Barton bickered about the best way to get to what Barton described as 'this killer breakfast joint,' and so Steve turned to Bruce. "It's good to see you again. What've you been up to?"

"Working, mostly," Bruce said, shrugging and looking down into his lap, shoulders hunched.

Well, that was vague.

'Course, that was Bruce in a nutshell. Natasha had told him about Bruce's 'condition,' as she so delicately put it, but she'd been pretty sparse on the details. She said he'd been working on making a new super soldier serum and that things had gone very, very badly, resulting in some kind of mutation that only took effect when Bruce was angry. "Or," she'd added, "In any other highly emotional state. It seems to be related to his heart rate."

The mutation triggered a transformation, a kind of Jekyll and Hyde thing, that Natasha assured him was very dramatic and highly undesirable. Her safety briefing (because that's what it was) didn't include any photographs, but she referenced an incident in Harlem that he'd taken the time to look up after she'd called and he'd been thoroughly informed.

It was clearly something Bruce was uncomfortable with, or maybe he was just uncomfortable in general. Steve was smart enough to read body language, and Bruce just seemed really...defensive. Of course, Steve knew that if _he _had to put up with Tony Stark 24/7, _he'd _be pretty defensive, too. So he asked, "How's life with Stark?"

Bruce chuckled, glancing out the window. "Exciting. Sometimes too exciting, but it's been pretty quiet lately." Then, as if remembering his manners, he asked, "How've you been? Acclimating to, uh, the new century?"

"I guess," Steve answered frankly, shifting his knees to one side so they were digging into the back of Barton's seat a little bit less. "It's a lot to take in." He paused, then admitted, "Honestly, it still doesn't seem real a lot of the time. I couldn't decide if today was my ninety-third birthday or my twenty-seventh."

Bruce looked at him, head cocked to one side. "That's a good question."

From the front seat, Natasha said, "SHIELD's official stance is twenty-seven, if that helps." She put on her left turn signal and turned into the tiny parking lot of a tiny diner. "Okay, kids, we're here."

The four of them made their way inside. The interior of the diner was as shabby as the exterior, and Steve wouldn't have been surprised to find out that that place had been around as long as he had. Barton led them to a booth in a corner, sliding in so that his back was to the wall. Natasha sat next to him, leaving Bruce and Steve to sit on the other side.

They ordered their food—Barton recommended the chocolate chip pancakes—and then conversation turned toward their plans for the rest of the day.

"It's really up to you," Natasha said. "We were thinking museums, but if you'd rather go see a movie or something, we could do that too. The only thing is, Director Fury wants to see you at some point today. No hurry on that, though; I don't think he ever leaves the office."

Steve felt his eyebrows creeping up. "Do you know what the director wants?" Fury hadn't contacted him since his first couple of days after waking up, though he had told Steve that, once he'd adjusted to his new world, he might have something 'useful' for him to do.

He wanted to do _something_ to repay the generosity SHIELD had demonstrated, but at the same time, he wasn't sure if he was ready to get back out there just yet. Still, he'd listen to whatever Fury had to say. He could do that much.

Natasha sipped her coffee. "I have an idea." But she didn't offer anything else, and the conversation slowly shifted to different topics.

When the food came, Steve had to admit that the chocolate chip pancakes were the best pancakes he'd ever had. Chocolate had definitely been a luxury back then, something he hadn't eaten often, and would have never thought of combining with pancakes.

His twenty-seventh slash ninety-third birthday was shaping up to be better than he'd expected.

So much so that he _almost _didn't miss the life he used to have.

* * *

**This story is rapidly approaching 100,000 words, which is worrisome because we are still a year out from The Avengers. Things are going to pick up a bit from here, but still. Geez. And to think I started writing this as a fun 'little' side project.**

**Coming in the next chapter: massive conflict. And a guy with a strange accent and great taste in clothes.**

**Anyway, my inane rambling aside, thanks to everyone who's reading and reviewing. **

**Let me know what you think!**


	17. Things Fall Apart

**Many thanks, as always, to my fantastic beta, irite.**

**I do not own The Avengers.**

* * *

**July 25, 2011**

Steve had spent the morning sketching at a cafe in Manhattan, and when he trekked home just after 2:00 PM, he was surprised to see a very, very nice car parked in front of his building.

He didn't know a lot about cars these days, but he knew that one didn't fit in the neighborhood. Steve approached it slowly (_Was this a test?_), but then rolled his eyes when he saw the license plate. California. 'Stark 9.'

He sighed and then went into the building.

Tony was sitting on the ground outside Steve's front door. Sitting on the ground in what had to be a very, very expensive suit. Steve took a minute to be thankful that Tony hadn't used some gadget to just let himself in. Apparently the man had a modicum of decency in him, somewhere.

"Stark," Steve said.

Tony looked up from his phone and then perched his sunglasses on top of his head. "Oh, hey. I was wondering if you were ever coming back." He sounded thoroughly disgruntled from his wait.

Biting back a more acidic reply, Steve answered, "You could have let me know you were coming."

Tony stood. "Where's the fun in that? Besides, I was being sneaky. He barely paused for breath before bouncing on his toes slightly, "Well? You gonna let me in or what?"

Pulling his keys out, Steve asked, "That your car out front?"

"Yeah, what gave it away?" Without waiting for a reply, he went on, "They finished the garage at my new tower so I had a few of my favorites shipped in. I keep one at my house and the rest of them there."

Steve pushed his front door open and made his way inside. "Uh, that's good. I guess."

"Yeah. You got anything to drink? I didn't think I'd need to pack a lunch or something." Tony shut the front door and flopped onto Steve's couch.

Practically biting his tongue, Steve obligingly went to the kitchen and poured them both glasses of lemonade. He gave one to Tony, who eyed it suspiciously before taking a tentative sip. Apparently convinced that it wasn't poisoned, he drank more enthusiastically.

Steve settled onto a chair, sipping his own drink. Then, making a concerted effort to keep his voice neutral, he asked, "So, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

Tony set his glass down and leaned back. He looked Steve up and down. "Heard you had a meeting with Fury a few weeks ago."

Steve did not know how Tony knew that. Maybe Clint or Natasha had said something? That seemed unlikely—it didn't seem like they were likely to have idle conversation with Tony—but how else could he know? In the end, he just nodded stiffly.

"Yeah. You're gonna work for him, right?"

Okay, no one knew exactly what he'd said to Fury, except for him and Fury. Steve narrowed his eyes. "How d'you know that?"

"I have my ways." Tony waved a lazy hand. "Don't suppose I can convince you to come over to the dark side?"

Steve wasn't quite sure what Tony meant by that. Evidently, his confusion showed on his face because Tony said, "Damn, you're missing like, seventy years of pop culture references. How do you even survive?"

"I get by," Steve answered tersely. "What are you asking?"

"I'm asking you to tell Fury to shove his 'special ops' where the sun doesn't shine and come work for me instead."

Now Steve was really out of his depth. How could Tony know what he'd talked to the director about? And why would he want Steve to work for him?

"Work for you doing what?" And _that _was the question he asked. _Great job, Rogers_.

Tony shrugged. "I'm sure I could find something. I'm opening my new headquarters in a couple of months. Lots of job openings. You wouldn't even have to go running into a war zone or anything. You could, I don't know, make coffee?"

This had gone on long enough. Steve felt obliged to point out the obvious. "You don't like me."

Tony nodded. "Yeah, well. You're a goody two shoes. And the whole self-righteous thing's a turn off, if I'm gonna be honest."

Steve felt himself bristling. The two of them had had exactly one conversation, but Tony was acting like he knew him already. And self-righteous? Steve wasn't self-righteous. "Hey. Why don't you back off?"

Shrugging again, Tony said, "Sure. But you're the one who had to bring up personal shit. I'm just offering you a job."

"Why?"

Tony cocked his head to one side. "If you're working for me, you're not working for SHIELD. And I like to have things they don't."

For a moment, Steve was just stunned. Then he shook his head roughly. "Does that sort of thing usually work?"

"I'll pay you more than they can?"

Steve shook his head again. "I don't think so."

"Look," Tony said sharply, "Can't you just trust me that you _don't _want to work for them?"

"Why not?"

Tony stood. "They're...just. The private sector, Cap. That's the way to go. We do some shitty stuff, but at least we're honest about it. I've seen what SHIELD does, and I've seen what Fury does. You don't want to be a part of that."

They'd had this argument before during their only previous conversation, where Tony had more or less accused him of being naive. And that had been just as annoying then as it was now. "I can figure that out for myself."

"Obviously not. You've already agreed to work for them."

"How do you even _know _all of this?"

"I just do. Geez, you ask a lot of questions. Did you ask SHIELD this many questions?"

Steve paused. Honestly? He hadn't. Tony was, annoyingly, actually right about that. But still, Steve said, "Okay, give me one good reason why I shouldn't work for SHIELD. One."

Tony narrowed his eyes. "They're hiding a power source more powerful than anything else on the planet, to start."

Steve nodded, fairly sure at this point that Tony didn't have anything aside from an apparent vendetta. Even though an enormously powerful source of power did sound familiar... "Right. And that's a bad thing?"

"Well, probably," Tony said. "I don't know about you, but I like a little transparency when my government is dealing with that sort of thing."

Steve shrugged. "I trust them."

"You shouldn't," Tony assured him. "And I'll prove it." He pulled out a business card. "Give me a call if you want. The job offer stands." Then he was gone.

Steve looked at the closed door for a moment, reflecting on how completely _unexpected _this whole meeting had been. And how much better it had gone than their last conversation. Tony had only been a _little _insulting, grating, and annoying, despite the fact he was apparently on a paranoid mission to show SHIELD's true colors. All in all, though, he was way dialed back from how he'd been before. Steve wasn't sure what had caused the change, or if it was only a temporary thing, but it was enough to make him wonder.

And enough to make him consider what Tony had been saying. He pulled out his cell phone, considering calling Fury to ask how Tony had come by the information he had. But then he tucked the phone back into his pocket.

Something was telling him that, for the moment, it could wait.

Because _maybe _part of him wanted to see what Tony came up with for proof.

* * *

**August 2011**

Natasha paced the perimeter of the room for the third time that hour, checking all the nooks and crannies for anything suspicious. She didn't think that there would be anything suspicious here, ever—this lab was deeply underground and well protected—but she wasn't taking any risks.

Not with this.

At the end of May, Clint had been sent on a mission, a reprieve from babysitting. Except that wasn't quite right. It was still babysitting, but it was an object instead of a person.

SHIELD had an item called the 'Tesseract'. It was a power source. It was very, very powerful. There were records from the Second World War showing how it had been used to power a weapon that was capable of vaporizing people. And SHIELD was trying to gain an understanding of how it worked. They had a research facility in New Mexico that was perfect for the project, and so SHIELD had transported the Tesseract and a slew of scientists—including Dr. Selvig, who was more than willing to work with SHIELD now that they weren't stealing his protégé's data—across the country to work there.

Clint had been in charge of security for the move and had overseen the setup of the facility, which of course meant everything was tight. After that, SHIELD had assigned a few agents to the facility for security, and they got rotated out every two weeks. It was a pretty easy detail, all in all.

Natasha had been there for just over a week, had arrived August 1st, and was looking forward to getting back to base. Working here was easy, but boring. Of course she understood that this item was dangerous, and she knew that there were likely interested parties who would like to acquire it, but still. Boring.

Still, her assignment here was a step forwards, a step towards getting back to being a normal field agent. Fury had finally decided to step back on the detail assigned to Bruce, after months and months of Natasha and Clint's positive reports. Now, he had decided that Bruce only required cursory supervision, which meant that there was only usually one agent on duty at Tony's house. The other could be sent on other missions, which worked out well all around—it kept her and Clint from getting too bored. Even if the other missions were, at times, excruciatingly dull.

Soon, Natasha figured Fury would reassign them altogether, and she was looking forward to that day. She liked Bruce and all, but she wanted to be doing things, to be out there, not sitting in a house and waiting for something to happen that probably never would.

For now, though, she paced the perimeter, keeping an eye on the scientists at the center of the room. It was just after 8:00 at night, and they should have been wrapping up for the evening, but of course they weren't.

Scientists seemed to run on caffeine and the thrill of discovery, and wasn't that just annoying.

One scientist in particular caught her eye. He was Dr. Selvig's new assistant, and although he'd only started working there recently—in the last few days, even—he seemed deeply involved in the proceedings, carefully observing and taking extensive notes on what was happening. At the moment, he was tweaking some of the machinery off to one side, isolated from everyone else.

At least, that's what it looked like he was doing. A closer look revealed that he was mostly just poking at it with a screwdriver.

Natasha circled back around the room, keeping an eye on him. Yeah, he definitely wasn't working. Well, Natasha could respect that—there was a fine art to appearing to do work while actually doing nothing. Especially when work should have ended hours ago; she didn't blame him for slacking off.

Still, she made her way over to him. It was her job to make sure nothing suspicious was happening, after all. And while he almost certainly wasn't building a bomb or something at the moment, it was best to be sure. Besides, she wanted to get to know all the people working here, and this seemed like a good opportunity for an introduction of sorts.

As she approached, he looked up, his green eyes narrowed, and he said haughtily, looking down on her, "Can I...help you?"

He seemed kind of hostile. Perhaps suspiciously so. Natasha narrowed her eyes slightly.

Also, what the hell kind of accent was that? It was the first time she'd heard him speak, and it was...odd. Natasha had been around the world and had never heard anything exactly like it. That piqued her curiosity, and she made a note to check his personnel file when she got a chance. What was his name? Something really mundane. Comically mundane. John Smith? No, not John. James. Dr. James Smith. Yeah, she'd look into him. For the moment, though, she just said, "Probably not. What are you doing?"

He looked, if possible, less impressed. "Working. Now, leave me. I have no time for distractions." He pointedly turned his back.

This annoyed Natasha immensely, and she was tempted to show him exactly where he could shove his 'leave me.' But that was counterproductive, so she just shrugged to herself and muttered, "Absolutely, Mr. Smith."

He did not correct her. Probably too high-and-mighty to acknowledge her presence, but that was interesting. Most of the doctors that she had preferred to be addressed by their title, some to the point of obnoxious correction.

Brows furrowed, Natasha resumed her slow circuit around the room. Soon, she was going to head up to the top floor and then make her way back down after she'd checked everything up that way. And maybe while she was upstairs, she'd have a word with Maria (who was in charge of this facility) about Dr. Selvig's new assistant.

James Smith. What a name. It was like someone had looked up 'most common names' and just picked a few from the list.

Natasha was musing on this when she felt her pocket vibrate. She pulled her phone out and glanced at it. She had a message from Clint. The message read: 'We have a problem.'

Natasha sighed. Of course they had a problem, now that she was on the other side of the country. They hadn't had a problem in weeks. Not since Stark had blown something up in his lab, and that hadn't been a problem so much as a mild annoyance. Bruce hadn't even gone a little green, despite having to run gasping from their basement workshop while Tony got the fire extinguisher. And the lecture Bruce had delivered to Tony on lab safety afterwards had been epic. Natasha almost wished she'd gotten a copy of it.

Quickly, Natasha texted Clint back, inquiring as to the nature of the new disaster. If it was a legitimate problem, then he _should _have been contacting Phil. Or Fury, if it was a particularly nasty problem.

Clint's answering message was quick. 'Stark knows about the Tesseract.'

That made Natasha sigh again. Her head started to ache. She hadn't been prone to tension headaches before she'd been assigned to watch Bruce, and thus, Tony. Now they were a constant.

She didn't know how Tony had found out about the Tesseract. That was something she intended to get out of him, if Clint hadn't already. But if Clint was telling her about this and not immediately reporting to anyone higher up, that meant he was probably looking for advice. Natasha needed more information for that, though, and so texted him, 'And?'

His next reply took longer. 'He's trying to throw me out.'

The mental image made Natasha smirk. Tony wasn't a slouch when it came to self-defense, but she'd pay to see him try to move Clint. Of course, Clint would have to play nice, since Tony was a civilian and thus likely to sue if anything happened to him.

But the larger issue at hand was Bruce. That was their assignment, not Tony, so Natasha asked, 'How's Banner?' If things were getting ugly at chez Stark, then they might have to move Bruce 'til everything had cooled off.

Clint's reply took the longest yet, and Natasha was beginning to seriously worry when Clint sent, 'Not green.' Then, a second later, 'Stark's gone.'

He'd probably gone to throw a fit somewhere in peace. Or he was taking this to Fury right now.

Natasha sighed.

At the moment, she found that she had no advice to offer to Clint at all.

...Maybe being in the middle of the desert wasn't so bad. If Fury wanted to rip her a new one, it would have to be via video call.

* * *

_I don't get paid enough for this_.

Clint considered asking Fury for a raise.

Then he decided that he rather liked being alive, and such a move wasn't conducive to continuing that trend.

But he still didn't think he got paid enough for this.

Especially considering the _massive _chewing out he was going to get when this got back to Fury. Which it undoubtedly would.

"That was, uh, unfortunate." Bruce looked down, apparently examining his shoes.

"Yeah, right?" Clint breathed. He massaged the bridge of his nose. "This is a disaster."

"Which part?" Bruce asked, voice keen. He looked up and met Clint's eyes. "The part where Tony hacked SHIELD's e-mail and learned about the Tesseract, or the part where it turns out that SHIELD intends to use the most powerful item in the world to make _weapons_?"

Well, Bruce's vehemence was surprising. "Um. Wow. Well. Both." He'd been fairly surprised to find out that particular detail, about the weapons. It seemed astonishingly stupid, considering that research was, as far as Clint understood, at the very, very preliminary stage. After all, he'd helped set up the research center several weeks ago. They'd just started trying to figure this thing out. Why were weapons on the table already?

Tony's rant had contained a fair amount of technobabble, which Clint hadn't really followed, but Bruce seemed to have gotten the gist of it. At least, he'd nodded along and his eyes had widened once or twice. And he seemed pretty assured in his statement that the Tesseract was 'the most powerful item in the world.' So, there was that.

Clint sighed. Tony had yelled about 'governmental idiocy' and 'taxpayer funded stupidity' and he'd been entirely unimpressed with the idea of alien weapons. And then he'd tried to remove Clint from the premises, until Clint had pointed out that if he left, SHIELD would want him to take Bruce, too. And Tony wasn't about to uproot Bruce, who was, as Tony often said, his 'East Coast Best Friend.'

So Tony had left instead, with a vague, though angry, "I'll be back later."

Clint had hoped he _wasn't _going to see Fury.

"I need to talk to Fury," Clint muttered. He'd texted Natasha, hoping for a solution, but none had presented itself. Now he had to face the music. And get to Fury before Tony did.

"Yes," Bruce agreed. "You do."

Clint looked at him. Bruce seemed...as close to angry as he could get. One fist was clenched at his side, and as Clint watched, he began to pace.

"You okay?" He hated asking, but he had to know if there was going to be a 'situation' on top of this already-fubar situation.

"Fine." Then, sharper, "Don't they know how dangerous it is? Messing with tech you don't understand?" He gestured at himself angrily. "Look at what happens when you mess with tech you _do _understand. Someone could get killed or worse."

Clint had doubts about the 'fine' thing, but he had to trust Bruce to know his own limits. He hadn't demonstrated anything other than control for the last eight months, barring the one 'incident' that was in no way his fault. He said, "You're right. It is stupid." And he _felt _stupid, because he'd needed _Tony Stark _to tell him what was going on in his own agency. How was he supposed to defend SHIELD, when he was being kept in the dark? He'd basically been hung out to dry.

But hung out to dry or not, he still had to talk to Fury. He pulled out his phone. "I'm going to call this in."

"Wait," Bruce stopped him.

Puzzled, Clint stopped. "What?"

"Tony's not going to Fury with this."

"How do you know?" It seemed _exactly _like something Tony would do, taking his hard-earned information and rubbing it in Fury's face.

"Well...I can't know anything for sure, but...if he was going to Fury, he would have said as much."

That was a good point. Tony wasn't shy about antagonizing SHIELD, and he'd have no qualms about boasting about doing it. Clint tucked his phone back into his pocket. "You might be right. But I still need to report the security breach."

"Someone needs to stop 'Phase 2'," Bruce pointed out, using his fingers to make quotation marks. "As for the security breach—that's nothing new. It can wait."

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Are you...what are you suggesting?" He wasn't sure that Phase 2 needed to be _stopped_. Reconsidered, maybe. Closely regulated, definitely. But stopped? That wasn't really his prerogative.

Bruce shrugged, awkward. "I...don't know. Fury seems like the type who does what he wants. He might need some convincing."

That was true. But Clint still wasn't sure it was _his _place to do that convincing. "I'm not...I'm a field agent, I don't deal with policy."

Bruce looked down. "Yeah. That's true." His shoulders were still stiff, though. And he had a good point. Messing with something that powerful seemed like it was doomed to fail, with probably-disastrous results. But Clint still didn't feel it was really his place to get involved.

Then again...he'd always had a knack for getting mixed up in things he didn't necessarily belong in. He sighed. "Damn it. I'll...do something." He didn't feel right doing _nothing_. At the very least, he'd talk to Phil. And Natasha. She was probably going to call him soon anyway. And in the meantime... "Someone should talk to Stark. If he _does _bring this to Fury before we're ready, that could get ugly."

Bruce nodded, relaxing a minute amount. "I'll send him a message. Can't guarantee he'll listen, but stranger things have happened."

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Stranger things than Tony Stark listening to the voice of reason? Right, I'll believe that when I see it."

Bruce chuckled, and Clint added, "I'll see if Phil can swing by here in the morning. We can start to get this mess straightened out."

Experience should have taught him by now that nothing was ever that easy.

* * *

Tony had made a note to start digging when Pepper had mentioned that Clint was on a mission at the end of May. He couldn't just let something like that go. He wasn't really too invested in it, wasn't really in a hurry, and so he took his time. It wasn't like the SHIELD agents were going anywhere anytime soon, right?

Eventually, though, he decided to move forward. At the end of June, he'd had a _tiny _lab accident while designing a new repulsor, and he'd decided to do something a little less explosive for a little while. Research. On SHIELD. Secretly, because he _knew _how annoyed Bruce got when he hacked SHIELD.

He knew, of course, that he wasn't supposed to hack SHIELD anymore. And he didn't. He just hacked their e-mail. No big deal, really.

In Clint's e-mail, Tony found a file about something called 'the Tesseract.' It was practically begging him to open it, so of course he had.

And then he'd immediately regretted waiting so long to get started on this.

The _fascinating _file in Clint's inbox had led Tony to a number of different corners and yeah, he might have ended up looking through some of the stuff on SHIELD's servers. No crime in that.

Okay, there was, but whatever. He had to know what was going on. Even if it took him the better part of a month to get through their new security. After all, he'd designed it this time, so it was tight.

Eventually, though, Tony had figured out what was going on. SHIELD seemed to have been storing the Tesseract for decades, after Howard had pulled it off the bottom of the ocean. And now they were doing research on it, trying to figure out what it could do.

He'd discovered the rest of SHIELD's plans later, after working his way through a few more layers of security. But that took until August.

In the middle of his research, towards the end of July, he noticed that Captain Rogers seemed to be getting ready to commence employment with the agency. He'd had a meeting with Fury regarding doing some special missions and, more importantly, had recently submitted the necessary paperwork to start working. That was something that Tony thought ought to be prevented. Sure, he thought Rogers was a dick, but he certainly didn't want SHIELD to have him—dick or not, he was way too cool for them, and so he'd made an attempt to sway the good captain. Granted, it hadn't been a particularly strong attempt, but he _had _been sincere. Tony would have been happy to hire Rogers on as a mailroom clerk or something, somewhere Tony didn't have to look at him. Still, Rogers hadn't gone for it. He'd seemed willing to reconsider, though, which Tony found surprising. He'd just assumed Rogers was a hardheaded soldier type.

So Tony had set out to prove his point, and then he had. He'd found exactly what he was looking for.

For once, he was almost annoyed about being right. Because he was right that SHIELD was doing something insupportably stupid.

Anyway, he had his proof, now, and the temper tantrum he'd thrown so that he could leave the house to go show it to Rogers without arousing suspicions had been epic (and he'd been a bit put off that neither Bruce nor Clint had seemed to find his behavior out of the ordinary). The drive to Steve's apartment was fairly quick, and he bounded up the stairs, only vaguely aware that it was a little bit before midnight.

He thought fondly of his first attempt to go see Rogers with Bruce, which had been promptly interrupted by Agent PA, who seemed to think it was indecent to go visiting after midnight.

Then he was at the captain's door and knocking on it with one hand, his trusty tablet clutched in the other.

It took a few moment, but then Rogers opened the door. He was still dressed, and he looked decidedly unimpressed to be having visitors.

That fact it was Tony probably didn't help things.

"Stark."

"Hey, Cap!" He pushed his way into the apartment, acutely aware of the fact that Rogers had _let_ himself be pushed out of the way—Tony knew he couldn't move the guy unless he wanted to be moved. "You ready for a science lesson?"

"No," Rogers sighed. "But I have the strangest feeling I'm going to get one, anyway."

Tony grinned and held up his tablet. "Observe exhibit A."

* * *

**Sorry about the lack of update last week, I was less than inspired. Updates are probably going to continue to be slow, since I recently acquired a new cat and a job. Plus, classes start in two weeks. So, fair warning.**

**That said, please feel free to review. You know you want to.**


	18. Sleepover

**First, thanks to my beta, irite, for being the best beta ever.**

**Second, sorry about taking so long to update this. I'm a failure as a writer, I know. Oh, woe.**

**Third, I have not yet obtained the rights to The Avengers. Le sigh.**

* * *

Bruce made it a habit to avoid stressful situations.

At least, he _had_. Nowadays, he was living with Tony Stark, and that man seemed to attract stressful situations like a bright light attracts moths.

Okay, Bruce couldn't blame him for the thing with Vanko. That was one hundred percent _not _Tony's fault. How could Tony have known that a crazy Russian guy, hellbent on revenge, would escape from prison and commiserate with Justin Hammer, of all people? And then betray Hammer to exact his revenge on Tony? It was a fairly unpredictable situation all around.

No one's fault, really. Well, except for Vanko's. And Hammer's. And everything that had happened afterwards, with the whole 'Hulk Out' thing? That wasn't anyone's fault, either, except for the obvious.

So he'd been told. And had, albeit reluctantly, come to believe.

But this? This new crisis? Would have been entirely avoidable, if Tony had just avoided committing a felony and hacking a government agency.

It wasn't like that was particularly _hard_. Bruce, for his part, avoided committing felonies every day. He didn't understand why Tony couldn't just let things go. But no, he had to poke and prod and dig until something exploded in his face.

Sometimes literally.

_Idiot_.

Bruce's irritation was at least partially mitigated, though, by the fact that SHIELD had actually been up to some seriously shady business. Tony's digging, as obnoxious as it was, had been for the best. Not that Bruce had any intention of telling Tony as much. He shouldn't encourage this kind of behavior. God knew Tony didn't need any encouragement.

It was worrying that SHIELD was messing around with this 'Tesseract.' What Bruce had gathered during Tony's rant was enough to set him ill at ease about the object. It seemed unstable. SHIELD's involvement with the 'Tesseract' was troubling. But the fact they meant to weaponize it? Was terrible.

Were they _trying _to do the stupidest possible thing? Or did it just come naturally to them?

Which was more or less the question Tony had posed to Clint, who'd been on the receiving end of Tony's ire.

Something the archer had taken surprisingly well, considering the fact that Bruce didn't imagine he often had to put up with deranged engineers screaming in his face. Especially about things that were classified. Classified to the point that Clint didn't even know about them. So really, for dealing with the dual problems—Tony's yelling, and the fact he'd been hacking SHIELD under Clint's nose—Clint had done a remarkably good job of staying calm.

Bruce never took keeping calm for granted, always admired it when it was done well.

So Bruce had gone easy on Clint, hadn't done the yelling _he'd _wanted to do. Besides, he avoided yelling in general, out of habit. He was fairly sure he had enough of a grip on himself that he could do some pretty serious ranting without repercussions, but he thought it'd be better to leave the testing of that theory for a better time.

Like when he wasn't actually angry. Or when the guy he was yelling at might tranquilize him for appearing to lose control.

Instead, he'd expressed his general displeasure with the situation heatedly, though without raising his voice. And then he'd gotten back on track, because there was a bigger problem than his own need to vent here.

Bruce realized, fairly quickly, that Tony wasn't about to run to SHIELD with his newfound dirty laundry. He would've wanted to see the look on Clint's face when he announced his intention. That Tony _hadn't _announced his intention meant he was up to something else.

Something that still probably needed to be stopped.

So Bruce tried to think like a strategist. They had time, at least, a little bit. For now. Reporting this to Fury might just make Tony do whatever he was going to do faster. God knew they didn't need that.

Especially since having Tony clash with Fury would undoubtedly put the director of SHIELD into a mood that would not be the best for resolving a conflict, like the weaponization of a massive energy source. If they wanted Fury to listen, they were going to have to come at this from a more neutral, less combative angle. Which Tony was unlikely to be able to do.

So, with a little convincing, Bruce had managed to get Clint on his side. He'd been fairly reluctant (and Bruce didn't blame him, not really; this was a lot to take in), but even he couldn't ignore the fact that what SHIELD was doing was a risk. Clint had agreed to ask Agent Coulson, his handler, about it, which was honestly more cooperation that Bruce had thought to expect. Clint had also texted Natasha about their situation, and she'd called later to agree that this was something that needed to be addressed, and had commended them for not 'going off half-cocked and doing something stupid.'

She had a way with compliments that really made Bruce feel warm and fuzzy.

Or maybe vaguely threatened.

Anyway, after that, Bruce had retreated to his lab to text Tony, trying to get him to reveal his plan. But Tony was being massively stubborn, or was engaged in trying to take over the world or something, and not inclined to answer his phone. So Bruce had had JARVIS trace his phone. The AI had seemed reluctant to do so—probably out of some programmed loyalty to his creator—but Bruce sweet-talked him until he revealed Tony's location.

He was in Brooklyn.

And then Bruce had gotten a very bad feeling.

He'd sent a quick text message to the only person he knew who lived in Brooklyn. Within moments, Steve had confirmed that yes, Tony was there and yes, he'd had some interesting information to share.

Bruce had groaned.

A moment later, his phone had started vibrating. It had been Tony calling, finally, now that he'd been found out.

"You know, Bruce, you might have a future in being a creepy internet stalker."

Tony didn't even bother with a greeting, so Bruce felt justified in responding with, "What the hell are you doing?" It was almost two o'clock in the morning, he was tired, and not in the mood to play the games that Tony seemed to thrive on.

"Just recruiting Captain America to Team Tony. You know." There was a muffled protest in the background, and Tony said something indistinguishable.

Bruce had rolled his eyes at that, ignoring the commotion at the other end of the line. "'Team Tony?' Who else is on the team? And what, dare I ask, does membership entail?"

"Well, so far, there's me. And you, duh. And Rhodey, probably, but I haven't asked him yet. And Rogers, but he says he's 'not on any team right now, let alone mine.' Whatever. So that's us. And we're gonna do, um, stuff."

"Such as?" He tried and utterly failed to keep his irritation out of his voice. Honestly. Sometimes, he wondered why he put up with this moron.

Oh, yeah. Because for all his idiotic tendencies, and despite his habit of being as annoying as possible, Tony was pretty decent. More than decent. As the last several months—close to a year, now—had shown. He'd been accepting when SHIELD had thrust Bruce into his life, had done everything in his power to make sure Bruce didn't end up as some government pawn, and in the time since they'd met, Tony had been about the best friend Bruce had ever had.

Which was why he knew, deep down, he was probably going to go along with just about anything Tony proposed.

Without a doubt, this probably meant Bruce would keep getting roped into stuff like this indefinitely.

Well, maybe it was time for a new direction in his life.

Or maybe he was just making excuses for his poor decision making skills.

Unaware of Bruce's musings, Tony replied, "Oh, I don't know. Gotta deal with SHIELD, I guess. I mean, you saw what they're up to, right? We can't just let something like that go, Bruce."

Well, no, they couldn't. But still. "What's your interest in them, anyway?"

Tony didn't answer for a minute, and Bruce figured he was just thinking up something witty to say. So he was surprised when Tony answered frankly, "The only thing I like less than having the government take _my _stuff is when my government takes _someone else's_ stuff and tries to play with it. It's dangerous. It's stupid. They have no idea what they're doing, and their first instinct is to make it into a weapon? Please."

Bruce raised his eyebrows, though he was alone in his lab. He'd just figured Tony wanted to mess with SHIELD on principle, because they'd messed with him so much. But that was a decidedly more principled answer than he'd been expecting. "Uh...that's pretty much my take on it, too."

"Figured it would be. And anyway, it'll be fun to see the look on Fury's face when all this comes up."

Ah. There it was. Well, that was good, at least. If Tony was acting too out of character, Bruce might have to worry about his health. "And when's that going to be, exactly?"

"I was thinking I'd give him time for morning coffee."

"That's thoughtful. But, uh, could you maybe...not?"

"What, show up before coffee? That's just mean, dude."

"Not what I meant. I mean, could you hold off on the frontal assault? Barton's going to talk to Agent Coulson, and he might be able to help—"

"Help with what?" Tony interrupted. "I doubt Agent's going to be able to do a whole lot. He probably signed off on the whole thing already."

Bruce sighed. "I—_we_—just thought that the 'hey don't make weapons out of the Tesseract' thing might come better from someone who—"

"—Isn't me. Yeah, I guess I can see that." Tony paused. "You actually think Coulson's gonna back you up on this, though?"

"He...might." Honestly, Bruce didn't know Coulson well enough to judge. "Hey, why don't you bring Steve over here, and we can all talk this out, get some common ground."

Tony considered this for a minute. Then he said briskly, "Sure. Me and the good captain'll be home in a bit. We're gonna stop for coffee though." More quietly (yet still easily loud enough for Rogers to hear, if he was still in the room), Tony added, "This guy _cannot _make a cup of decent coffee to save his life."

Then Tony hung up.

Bruce sighed. This was awesome. Two o'clock in the morning, no chance of sleep, and he had to deal with Tony on caffeine.

And visitors.

Oh, and a possible Tesseract-related catastrophe.

So just a normal Wednesday, then.

* * *

Steve, Tony knew, had been less than impressed with his late night visiting.

Not that Tony had woken him up. That was fairly obvious. Tony just figured that Steve thought it was rude for people to show up without calling. At midnight.

He honestly couldn't figure out if it was the 'it's midnight' thing, or the 'you just showed up here' thing that was more rude. He was such a terrible judge of these things.

Steve was also less than impressed with the fact it was _Tony Stark _at his door. He did not put any particular effort into disguising that. Their greetings were terse, and Steve only let Tony in reluctantly. He didn't even offer Tony a drink, which was just rude. Instead, after shutting the door behind Tony, he'd sat down on his couch, crossed his arms over his chest, and asked, "Well? You said something about a science lesson?"

Tony never retreated from giving a science lesson. He'd plopped down next to Steve, tablet in hand, and jumped right into explaining what the Tesseract was, what it did, what it _could _do.

At least, until Steve interrupted him. "Yeah, I know all that. That's the thing that, um, Schmidt was using. During the war."

Oh.

Huh.

Wind taken slightly out of his sails, Tony said, "And...what do you think? Of what SHIELD's doing?"

"I don't like it."

Well, he didn't mince words, at least.

Before Tony could respond, Rogers asked, "How'd you figure this out?"

Which had led into a lengthy discussion of Tony's extracurriculars. Rogers might have disapproved of Tony's methods, but it was tough to say—he didn't say anything, just frowned, and that might have been as much of a reaction to Tony's presence as to what he was saying.

When he was done, Rogers just nodded. "So that's it, huh?" He was frowning, clearly mulling over what Tony had told him.

It was a little surprising—the two of them had gotten off to such a bad start that Tony had half expected Rogers to just throw him out. But no, he was actually considering what Tony had said, level-headed and quiet.

Tony shrugged. "Yeah, that's it. Shady business all around."

Steve huffed, "Yeah, that's the twenty-first century in a nut—" He paused, then pulled out his cell phone, looking down at the screen. "Dr. Banner wants to know if you're here." He sent a quick text message. "I'm telling him you are."

Tony sighed. He'd been ignoring his phone vibrating in his pocket, but apparently Bruce had managed to bribe JARVIS into giving up his location. "Ugh, whatever. I'll call him."

And he did, pointedly turning his back on Steve for 'privacy'.

When he was done, ignoring Rogers's complaints throughout his conversation with Bruce, he looked up at the other man, who'd stood up to pace. "So, wanna go check out my place?"

"Not giving me much of a choice, are you?"

"Please," Tony scoffed, standing up and punching Rogers's arm lightly. "Like I can make you go anywhere you don't wanna go."

"Nah, you'll just annoy me 'til I do what you want." And Rogers smiled, a tight, humorless expression.

Well, he wasn't wrong. "More or less. Come on."

And, surprisingly, Rogers did.

The drive to Tony's house was completely silent. Halfway there, Tony decided the silence was too awkward to tolerate and he turned on the radio. Steve made a face at the eighties metal, and Tony offered, "What, you want me to find you an oldies station?"

Rogers leaned forward and adjusted the radio, deftly setting it to a modern rock station. "No, this is good."

And then they didn't talk again, except when they swung through a twenty-four hour coffee joint that served really, really mediocre lattes.

Tony parked his car in the garage and then made his way into the house. The first thing he found was Clint, in the living room, sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep, mouth hanging open.

Well, it was about 2:30 in the morning. Tony didn't blame him. He'd probably be sleeping, too, if he wasn't hyped up on espresso and plans to overthrow a governmental agency. Still, Tony woke him up by yelling, "Good morning, Sunshine!"

Clint didn't even have the decency to startle. He just opened one eye lazily and flipped Tony off, before greeting Rogers, "Steve."

"Clint," Rogers replied. "How much do you know about what's going on here?"

Clint groaned. "This is a fucking mess, but you can always count on Stark here for that."

"Yeah, you can," came Bruce's tired voice from behind them.

"Hey, now," Tony chided from behind his coffee cup. "Be nice. This is my house." He knew he sounded sulky, he _knew_ it, but geez, these people were just being rude.

Of course, it was the middle of the night, and they were all awake on account of his mission against SHIELD and so _maybe _it was understandable, but still.

Clint sat up and stretched, yawning. He indicated the seating around him. "Well, come on, guys, let's get this shit figured out; I'd like to get some sleep at some point this year."

"What Agent Feathers said," Tony agreed, plopping down onto the couch next to Clint. Clint pointedly got up and moved to an armchair, which Tony felt was kind of unnecessary. Bruce sat down in his vacated spot, and Rogers took up a loveseat of his own.

They all looked at each other in a deep, tense silence. Which Tony broke with a, "So, SHIELD's doing pretty much the shittiest thing ever, am I right? What're we gonna do about that?"

"No one should be messing around with the Tesseract," Rogers stated. "Not even the 'good guys.'"

Bruce agreed, "They don't know what they're doing. Seems like a disaster is pretty much a guarantee if they're not careful."

Clint spoke up, rolling his eyes, "Sure, okay, let's just march in there and tell Director Fury that we don't want him handling this thing, I'm sure that'll really fly." He paused, then added, almost offhand, "I mean, he's the director of one of the most powerful government agencies in the world, answerable to practically no one on the planet, but sure, let's just do that. I'm sure it'll go over _great_."

"You don't need to be so dramatic," Tony chided him, ignoring the incredulous look Clint was shooting him. "Bruce is right. So's Captain Boyscout over there. No one should have that much power unchecked."

"It's not 'unchecked,'" Clint pointed out. "It's the government. There's oversight."

Tony thought he sounded fairly unconvinced, as if his protests were mostly for show. Hell, they probably were. Still, Clint was being pretty annoying, and Tony snapped, "You just said Fury doesn't answer to anyone! How is that 'oversight'? It's not oversight, it's a bunch of yes men doing whatever the boss says."

Clint frowned but didn't respond.

Rogers did, though. "I don't understand. What is SHIELD, exactly? I thought they were similar to, I don't know, the FBI."

"You were going to work for them and you didn't know what they were?" Tony found that hard to believe. Well, not really—SHIELD didn't make a habit of being forthcoming. So, not surprising, just hard to stomach. "Trust me, they're not like the FBI. I don't think the U.S. government has a whole lot of say in what SHIELD does, for starters." He looked at Clint. "That sound about right?"

"SHIELD's international," Clint ground out. "Run by a council comprised of the leaders of several nations. So no, the U.S. government doesn't have a lot of say." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Which explains 'Phase 2,'" Tony said smoothly. "No oversight, and no responsibility to the American people." He looked at Rogers. "So that's what you were about to sign up for."

Rogers frowned. "Okay, I get it. You obviously don't like them. And with what they're doing...right now I don't blame you. But what are we going to _do _about it?"

"About the only thing we _can _do," Tony replied. "We're going to have to go public."

"No," Clint stated. "Not gonna happen."

Now Tony rolled _his _eyes. "And why's that?"

Surprisingly, it was Bruce who answered. "Isn't it obvious? Most people don't know SHIELD even exists. And the kind of stuff they do...maybe that's for the best." He looked down. "I mean, if we go public, the stuff SHIELD does—not just the Tesseract stuff, but everything—is going to come out. And that means that, um. Well. I...what I am...I don't really want to be in the public eye, Tony." He paused, then added almost brightly, "Also, you'll probably go to prison for hacking them."

Damn it. He was right, of course. Well, about the first part. The second part—Tony thought he could probably take SHIELD on in court. Maybe. They hadn't bothered prosecuting him yet, he didn't know why they'd start now.

A quick glance at Clint revealed that he'd been thinking the same thing as Bruce—he'd nodded and shrugged—and so Tony frowned. "Fine. So we _don't _go public. What else can we do?"

There were several beats of silence, and then Steve started, "Well..."

* * *

Clint hadn't meant to fall asleep.

Okay, the first time, when Tony had gone off on his magical mission to wherever, yeah. He'd meant to fall asleep then, since he'd needed the rest and didn't know what kind of crap he'd be dealing with before the night was over. Years with SHIELD (and years doing what he'd done before SHIELD) had left him with the ability to fall asleep practically on command (and to sleep through almost everything, including explosions and gunfire), since he had to take what he could get.

The second time, though, when Tony and Steve started arguing about how to tell SHIELD that 'Phase 2' was a no-go for them, he hadn't meant to fall asleep then. It was important to listen, after all, and gauge what kind of actions he could expect from them. He had a responsibility to SHIELD, even if he didn't like what they were doing right now.

It was just, the only thing Tony and Steve were doing, and the only thing it seemed like they were going to _keep _doing, was arguing. Bitchily. And Clint didn't need to be conscious for that.

Tony had suggested going public and telling everyone what SHIELD was up to. That wasn't an option, though, not when SHIELD did classified work that kept the public safe. And kept people like Bruce safe. SHIELD had managed to get General Ross, Bruce's nemesis, reassigned to Afghanistan indefinitely. But if SHIELD got torn apart in an investigation, that might fall through. Not to mention having the public know about Bruce—who and what he was—wasn't likely to result in a lot of friendly feelings.

So when that had been shot down, Steve had suggested getting a big group together and trying to talk to Fury. Tony had countered that they weren't likely to find many SHIELD agents who were willing to stand up to Fury, and Steve had said that Tony was underestimating people, and Tony said Steve was overestimating them, and that had somehow turned into Tony more or less calling Steve naive and Steve more or less calling Tony an arrogant asshole and things had kind of devolved from there.

Clint had kept up for a while, texting Natasha the more pertinent details of the discussion, but eventually, he'd just...dozed off. He didn't even feel bad about it, really. It was obvious that Steve and Tony weren't going to get anywhere productive tonight, and he didn't really have a lot of thoughts on this matter himself. He wanted to talk to Phil, to get his perspective. And Nat's. He didn't tend to jump into things without thinking them through first. Hazard of being a sniper, maybe, but he liked to have distance. And perspective. And a plan.

Right now, they had none of those things. Hence the impromptu nap. He'd pay attention when they got to something useful.

He was awakened rather abruptly, though, by his phone ringing. It was 5:00 AM, and he sat up quickly, fumbling it in his haste to answer.

It was Natasha. "What the hell?" she asked by way of greeting. "You stopped texting right in the middle of the fight. I wanted to hear the end. Did Stark pull Rogers's hair?"

Clint glanced around the living room. He'd been slumped over in his chair, and a quick look around the room showed that he was alone. Well. That was kind of rude, that they'd just left him there.

But then, he _had _fallen asleep during their meeting.

Whatever. His neck was killing him.

To Natasha, he said, "Ugh, I'm sorry. I fell asleep."

There was a beat of silence. Then she snorted, "Really?"

"It was _boring_," Clint whined, well aware he was doing so. "Those two started fighting, and they didn't even have any good insults—"

"I resent that," came a mumble from the doorway of the living room. Clint turned to look just in time to see Tony stumbling towards the kitchen and, presumably, coffee.

Impatiently, Natasha asked, "Well, what happened? Did you decide anything? _Please _tell me that you managed to keep Stark from doing anything stupid."

"I...think so," Clint answered. Tony was still here, so that boded well.

Natasha gave a frustrated sigh. "Honestly, I leave you alone for five minutes, and this is what happens?"

"To be fair," Clint pointed out, more awake now, "Stark's been hacking SHIELD for like, months at this point. It's totally both our faults." He glanced at his watch. "Look, Phil's gonna be here in a few hours, I'm gonna talk to him, and then, yeah, I'm probably gonna go to Fury."

Natasha sighed again. "Don't do anything stupid. Don't do anything rash. And for god's sake, don't let Stark talk to _anyone_."

"I'll do my best," Clint replied dutifully. "What about you? What're you up to?"

Natasha didn't answer, and Clint thought that maybe the call had been dropped, but after a moment, she said, "I'm...looking into something. Or, rather, someone."

That piqued Clint's interest. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Selvig's new assistant. There's something off about him. I checked his file, but he doesn't have a social security number. Makes sense, his accent isn't American. But there's no immigration documentation, either. It's like he just...showed up here."

This was definitely interesting. "You think he's, what, a spy or something?"

"Or something," Natasha agreed. "I'm going to watch him, though, see what he's up to. If I think he's definitely a security risk, I'll have him questioned."

Clint nodded, even though she couldn't see him. "Good luck with that."

She huffed a laugh. "I don't need luck. I'm probably just paranoid because this assignment's so easy, I'm looking for something nefarious where there's nothing. _You _need luck, though. Don't let Stark dismantle SHIELD, okay?"

"I'll try," Clint said. "Check in later?" He'd want to discuss whatever happened today with _someone_.

"Sure," Natasha said, and then she hung up.

Stretching to work out some of the new kinks in his neck, Clint stood up. He made his way to the kitchen, where Tony was avidly watching coffee drip down into the pot.

"Morning," Clint said.

Tony turned a bleary gaze on him. "Ah, sleeping beauty has awakened at last. How was your nap? More interesting than figuring out what we're going to do about the Tesseract, I presume."

Clint shrugged. "Sorry. What can I say, your conversation was just _so _captivating." He dug a coffee cup out of the cupboard. "You and Steve should just skip all the fighting and just get straight to dating, damn."

"Steve," Tony said acidly (and Clint wondered when they'd gotten on a first name basis), "Is not my type. I prefer redheads."

"Noted," Clint replied, joining Tony to watch the coffee percolate. Then, somewhat abashedly, he asked, "What'd I miss?"

"Well, Rip van Winkle, I'm not sure where we lost you in the proceedings."

"Uh, somewhere around the time Steve was saying something about 'arrogant, selfish, ass—'"

"Right," Tony interrupted. "So, after that, Bruce had a few things to say about 'pointless posturing' and 'pissing contests,' and after that, we decided to see what Coulson had to say before we make any big decisions. You know, see if he knows about any of this. See if we can get SHIELD's perspective before we go in, guns blazing." He made a sour face. "Captain America apparently likes to have a plan. Anyway, then we noticed you were asleep. So we called it a night. Since Bruce said you had Coulson coming over in the morning, we thought it'd be easier if Steve stayed the night, so he's in one of the guest rooms."

"Gotcha," Clint said with a nod. He watched the coffee drip for another moment, then said, "Man, Phil is gonna flip. He's finally gonna get to meet Captain America."

If nothing else, that would at least be pretty funny.

Probably the only bright spot in the day.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**


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